Seeking Reassurance
by Azure Starlight
Summary: "Hermione looked reassured as she answered Kingsley's smile." One moment, however insignificant, has the power to unite two people. Can the same person who shattered Hermione's world, rebuild it again? Can he provide reassurance with more than a smile?
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

A ringing sound greeted Hermione Granger's ears as she awoke that morning, and she clapped her hand on top of her alarm clock to silence it. She never usually had problems waking up at the correct time, but she had an important meeting at the Ministry that morning and it would be highly unprofessional to be late. In addition to this, she'd not had much sleep, having prepared thoroughly for it, and consequently, felt a little lethargic, in contrast to her usual cheerful self.

She sauntered into the bathroom and brushed her teeth, taking care to floss; her mother and father had instilled it into her from an early age. They'd been delighted when she'd bought them an entire box of Toothflossing Stringmints one Christmas, as only dentists could be.

She hopped into the shower and allowed the hot water to cascade down her back; it gave her the opportunity to plan what she would say in this meeting. The Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, in which Hermione had been working for the past six months, was in desperate need of money to continue the projects which Kingsley Shacklebolt, the Minister for Magic, had asked them to do. Other departments had needed the money more than hers; although, she thought, weren't the rights of magical creatures just as imperative?

She'd written pages of notes in her tiny writing to justify why her department needed the money and just hoped that she could remember them all when she got to the meeting. It was to be between herself, Wilhelmina Grubbly-Plank, the Head of her Department and Kingsley. However, she felt no fear in speaking to Kingsley; she recalled the time when they'd shared a Thestral flying from Privet Drive, and he'd reassured her just with the calmness of his voice and his smile.

Stepping out of the shower, she groped blindly on the windowsill for her wand, and cast a drying charm on herself, before Summoning her robes from her bedroom and dressing.

As she walked back through to her bedroom, she heard a twittering sound and looked up; a tiny grey fluffy ball of feathers was hopping up and down on her windowsill.

"Pig," she muttered, half in exasperation and half in amusement; he must have a message for her. She opened the window and Pigwidgeon flew in, twittering in excitement and circling Hermione's head before hopping onto her shoulder, holding out his leg for her to retrieve the note tied to his leg. As soon as she had untied it, he was off again, hooting and flying around the room. She laughed and unrolled the parchment; she recognised the writing as Ginny's.

_Hope it all goes well at the Ministry today. Harry says if he gets chance, he'll meet you for lunch._

_ Ginny x_

"Come back, I need you to take this to Ginny," said Hermione, as she made a grab for Pig, who showed no sign of slowing down. She grabbed a quill from her dressing table and scrawled a reply.

_Thanks, will let you know how it goes. Tell Harry I'll meet him on Level Two._

_ Hermione x_

She attached the parchment to Pig's leg and set him on the windowsill to return to Ginny. Twittering excitedly, he flew off, and Hermione glanced at the clock on the wall.

"Never mind looking, you'll be late!" barked the clock.

"Just let me do the worrying, thank you," said Hermione, irritably. Worrying was about right; she couldn't do anything but. The knot of unease twisted in her stomach and she wondered what would happen if Kingsley decided that he couldn't justify giving them any more funding. Her boss would be fine, but Hermione had only been working at the Ministry for a few months. Technically, she was dispensable. They could manage without her. She had every confidence that she could tackle most jobs, but she could not deny the passion she had for protecting the rights of Magical Creatures.

She decided to skip breakfast, and went to stand in front of the mirror, performing her usual charms to apply make-up and tame her hair.

"Bee-yoo-tiful," said the mirror approvingly. "And who are you trying to impress?"

"You know, I really don't need this right now," snapped Hermione, and turning on the spot, Apparated to the Ministry.

Hermione hurried down the corridor from her office, and slowed to a halt as she reached the lifts, the golden grilles gleaming in the enchanted sunlight; evidently, the Magical Maintenance department were happy under the leadership of Kingsley Shacklebolt.

The grilles on the lift in front of her clattered open and she stepped inside. With a crash, the grilles closed again and the lift began to move upwards. The familiar female voice spoke as the lift jangled and bumped upwards.

"Level One, Minister for Magic and Support Staff."

The grilles opened and Hermione stepped out, ducking to avoid the paper aeroplanes that had zoomed in. She glanced at her watch; she had a few minutes before the meeting started.

"Ah, good morning, Hermione."

Hermione looked up to see a middle-aged, grey-haired witch walking towards her; her boss, Wilhelmina Grubbly-Plank.

"Morning," said Hermione. "I've made some notes for the meeting, reasons why we need extra funding. For example, I was looking at the project we suggested about Hippogriffs, and also the training of wizards on the handling of Grindylows and other water creatures. And we need to do something about-"

"I've heard from the Administration office that funding is extremely tight," interrupted Wilhelmina. "Much tighter than anybody is letting on." She placed her hand on Hermione's arm. "I wouldn't expect a lot, dear."

Hermione set her mouth firmly. "I won't take no for an answer."

Wilhelmina smiled. "Spoken like a Gryffindor." She gestured to the meeting room. "Shall we? I think Kingsley is waiting."

They made their way into the meeting room, where, as Wilhelmina had said, Kingsley was sitting. He stood up, a good six inches taller than Hermione. He was wearing purple robes, and sported his usual gold earring. Despite Hermione's misgivings, she could not help but return the smile that Kingsley gave.

"Hermione. Wilhelmina." He nodded at both women and gestured to the chairs in front of him. "Shall we make a start?"

The two women sat, on the same side of the table, showing unity. Hermione knew how important it was to persuade Kingsley of their cause.

"I called this meeting to discuss the funding for your department," said Kingsley, and handed a sheet of parchment to Hermione and Wilhelmina. "You've probably heard that less money is available to the Ministry this year, due to a decrease in the amount of benefactors. While that is a concern, it is also a relief to know that we won't be operating with the money of known Death Eaters."

Hermione couldn't help but agree; there had been a certain irony in the fact that Lucius had been funding this place illicitly for many years during his allegiance to a man who had wanted to bring the Ministry down.

"I've been trying to juggle the figures," he continued, "and I'm afraid, there's only one way of keeping the Department afloat."

"Well, I daresay we could cut the project on the importation of-" began Hermione, but Kingsley stopped her mid-flow, raising his large hand slightly to quiet her.

"It's not just a case of stopping several projects, Hermione," he said. "We can't afford to employ two people in the Department at this moment in time. For that reason, I'm afraid your post will no longer exist."

Hermione stared at Kingsley in shock; despite being warned that this was going to happen from many different sources, she had chosen to bury her head in the sand and decide that it couldn't happen to her, she was too efficient, too good at her job. She had never imagined this though; she and Wilhelmina had been convinced that a reduction in hours and number of projects would have been enough.

"I...well, what...permanently?" gabbled Hermione, her mind whirling with mundane thoughts such as rent payments, subscriptions to professional bodies, what she would do with herself day after day, holed up in her flat.

"For the foreseeable future, yes," said Kingsley. "I'm sorry, Hermione. I know it's not the answer you want. I can try and speak to somebody in another department..." His voice trailed off.

Hermione, much to her annoyance, felt her cheeks colouring and tears prickling at the back of her eyes. She couldn't start crying in a meeting, for Merlin's sake! It wasn't the done thing for a young woman of eighteen. All thoughts of 'not taking no for an answer' had been cast aside.

"Don't worry," she assured Kingsley, gathering her papers and shuffling them unnecessarily. "I'll...er...find something...keep looking in the _Prophet_..."

"If a job comes up," said Kingsley, looking Hermione straight in the eyes, "you'll be the first to know."

"I...thank you," faltered Hermione, and backed away from the table, knocking her chair over. "Oh...I'm sorry...I didn't...oh, goodness..."

"Hermione-" began Kingsley, but Hermione waved her hand dismissively, feeling the tears coming to her eyes again and knowing that she needed to leave before she burst into tears.

"I'll clear my desk," she said, hastily, and hurried out of the room and along the corridor to the lift. Once inside, she leant her head against the wall and allowed herself to sob weakly, tears streaming down her cheeks. She chided herself for being so pathetic about the whole thing; there were other jobs. But she loved her job; it was an area she'd always been passionate about, and she knew she'd done a good job on the projects she'd worked on. It was down to her that Salamanders were now a protected magical species, and that numbers had increased due to this.

'Level Four, Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, incorporating Beast, Being and Spirit Divisions, Goblin Liaison Office and the Pest Advisory Bureau.'

The grilles slid open and Hermione hurried out, keeping her head inclined so as to hide her tear-stained face. She just wanted to clear her desk and go home, perhaps to drown her sorrows in some redcurrant rum.

However, she hadn't accounted for her lunchtime rendezvous with Harry, and as she entered the office she shared with Wilhelmina, Harry's face peered from around the side of her cubicle.

"Merlin's beard!" she gasped, stopping in her tracks. "Don't _do_ that, you gave me a fright."

"Constant vigilance," said Harry with a grin, something he often said as a sort of tribute to Mad-Eye Moody. "Seriously, how did it go?"

Hermione sighed and picked up her work bag, sweeping papers from her desk into it.

"That bad?"

She said nothing, and continued to clear her desk, opening drawers and pulling out all manner of objects. Harry watched as she threw paperweights, pens, pictures and heavy reference books into her diminutive handbag.

"I've heard that women can fit a lot in their handbags, but I'm guessing this is one of your Extension Charms?" he said, jokingly.

Hermione sighed and paused in her packing. "I suppose I was ready for this. I cast the charm last night, just in case I needed it. Turns out I was right."

"There'll be other jobs," said Harry, reassuringly. "What about Gringotts? You always were good at Arithmancy."

"Not challenging enough."

"Oh. Healer at St Mungo's?"

"The training takes too long."

"What about-"

"Just stop." Hermione could feel herself becoming tearful and tense. "Look, I'll find something."

"Hermione, I'm just trying to help, okay?" Harry touched her arm reassuringly. Something in the gesture caused anger to rise up in Hermione, and she turned to Harry, eyes flashing.

"It's okay for you!" she cried. "You just walk into a job that was made for you with a good wage, while I had to fight for this right from the start, and now I've got no job, no money and no way of paying the rent. I..." She broke off, pressing her hand to her mouth to suppress her sobs, feeling the tears wet beneath her fingers.

Harry put his arms around her, and Hermione sobbed weakly into his shoulder, feeling pathetic for doing so. She felt awful for snapping at her friend and here he was, still there to support her. She felt like a complete bitch.

"You must be starving," he said, releasing her and surveying her pale face. "Let's go and get some lunch from Diagon Alley. There's a new cafe bar with some fantastic food."

Hermione smiled weakly; food wasn't exactly on her list of priorities at the moment. The list was more likely to comprise alcohol, wallowing in self-pity and finding a job, and preferably in that order. However, she smiled at Harry, allowed him to take hold of her arm and with a fleeting glance around her old workspace, closed the door on this particular chapter of her life.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Thank you to those who reviewed and have added this story to their favourites; I've not posted for years so it's nice to know that you like it! The story is DH and epilogue compliant, aside from Hermione and Ron's relationship.**

**Chapter 2**

Hermione tossed her handbag onto the floor of her hallway, hearing the rustling of hundreds of papers emanating from its depths. That handbag was going to take some serious clearing out. But she could leave that for a while. She had a far more important appointment with a glass of wine.

She flopped onto the sofa and kicked her shoes off, leaning her head back. She was quite content at the prospect of wallowing in self-pity for the remainder of the night; just her, Crookshanks and a bottle of Madam Rosmerta's best wine, one that Ginny had bought her for her birthday.

_Ginny_.

Hermione jumped up, cursing herself. How could she have forgotten to let Ginny know how her meeting had gone? Some friend she was. She hurried into the kitchen and grabbed hold of a glass jar on the mantelpiece. Throwing a fistful of glittering dust into the grate, Hermione took a deep breath, plunged her head into the emerald green flames and shouted "The Burrow!"

Her head began to spin and she felt dizzy, so dizzy that she was going to be sick, but then the kitchen of the Burrow began to swim into focus, and the feeling of nausea subsided.

"Ginny?" she called, as her gaze swept the kitchen. "Ginny, are you there?"

Footsteps told her that somebody was there, if it wasn't Ginny. But Hermione's luck was in; Ginny came skidding into the kitchen.

"Hermione!" She bent down to the grate. "How was it? How are you feeling?"

Hermione laughed derisively. "Apart from jobless, worthless and soon to be destitute? Absolutely marvellous."

Ginny sighed. "Where's that Gryffindor optimism?"

"Optimism doesn't pay the bills."

"No. Sorry." Ginny frowned. "Have you got anything else lined up?"

"I haven't had chance to look yet. I was hoping you could take my mind off things, to be honest. Are you doing anything later?"

"Not much," said Ginny. Her eyes sparkled as realisation dawned upon her. "Oh...girls' night out?"

"Well, it was more like girls' night in, actually," said Hermione, with a smile. "But I daresay we could go out. I might just be able to afford that."

Ginny clapped her hands. "Brilliant! We can make a night of it down Diagon Alley."

"Maybe not a complete, full-blown night out," said Hermione, who had only really wanted a glass or two of wine.

Ginny glanced sternly at Hermione. "It's exactly what you need, missy." She glanced at her watch. "Give me an hour to get ready, and I'll come to yours by Floo."

"Okay. See you soon." Hermione pulled her head out from the fire, felt her head spinning again and toppled backwards onto the floor in her flat.

"And that's _before_ you've had a drink," snickered the mirror above the hearth.

"Oh, shut up," said Hermione, getting up and smoothing her hair down.

Ginny had arrived late ("George had the bathroom, he's worse than a girl sometimes") and insisted on Hermione allowing her license on her hair.

"I'm not bothered, honestly," insisted Hermione, as Ginny placed her hands on Hermione's shoulders and pushed her down onto a stool.

"Sit," she said, firmly, and pulled her wand out of her pocket. "_Capillus torqueo._"

Hermione's long tresses began to curl, and "_Capillus sursum_" caused them to twist and pile up in a messy knot on top of her head.

"Not bad," said Ginny, approvingly. Hermione stood up and glanced in the mirror.

"Just got out of bed, have we?" said the mirror, slyly.

"You know, most mirrors are quite complimentary about their owners," said Hermione, sarcastically. "You might want to give it a try." She teased a curl out of the knot of hair with her finger; she liked the look it gave her. Less librarian, more liberal.

"I thought we could start at the Leaky Cauldron," said Ginny, pouting into the mirror and applying lipstick, "and end up in Libera. Their barman is a genius with cocktails; he's come over from Russia." She elbowed Hermione conspiratorially. "He might know Viktor..."

"That was years ago," said Hermione, dismissively. "He was a bit...well, odd."

"But very fit." Ginny giggled.

"Haven't you got a boyfriend?" Hermione looked at her friend in half disapproval, half amusement. "Name of Harry Potter, black hair, green eyes, trainee Auror?"

"I'm allowed to look," said Ginny, in an injured tone. "Anyway, speaking of boyfriends, how was your date with Justin?"

"Just awful," said Hermione, with a groan. "Remind me never to go out with a Hufflepuff again. Very nice and all, but..."

"Thick?" supplied Ginny.

"That's not what I meant," said Hermione. She sighed. "He was a bit...wishy-washy, I suppose. Too nice."

"Perhaps you'd like a date with Draco Malfoy, seeing as you don't want 'nice'."

"Oh yes, and I'd get ever so far with the parental introductions. Have you forgotten what his pet name for witches like me was?"

"Make your mind up! You said you didn't want 'nice'. I was just making a suggestion."

Hermione sighed. "It's all hypothetical anyway. I don't have time for a boyfriend."

Ginny rolled her eyes. "There's more to life than work, Hermione."

"Shall we go?" Hermione didn't particularly want to dwell on her non-existent love life.

Conceding defeat, Ginny held out her arm for Hermione to hold. They spun on the spot together, and with a _pop_, Apparated.

"Ow! Watch where you're treading!"

They landed in an undignified heap outside the Leaky Cauldron; Hermione hopped aside, holding her foot, as Ginny regained her balance.

"Sorry, never did get the hang of Side-Along Apparition," said Ginny, dusting herself down. "It always throws me off balance."

"Hmmm. You can buy me a drink to make up for it."

"With pleasure." Ginny's eyes sparkled. "I'm looking forward to seeing you merry."

Hermione laughed the comment off as they made their way inside the Leaky Cauldron; it had undergone some transformation recently, and looked much lighter and more welcoming. Gone were the small cliques trading in contraband and witches touting for business; Tom had done well to turn this place around after the war.

"We'll stay for one in here, and then move on," said Ginny, propping her elbows on the bar. "What do you fancy?"

"Nothing too heavy," said Hermione, her gaze traversing the bottles behind the bar.

"Perhaps a visit from the absinthe fairy?" suggested Ginny, pointing to a glittering green bottle.

"Definitely not. And isn't that more of a male thing anyway?"

"The absinthe fairy can be whoever you want it to be," said Ginny, with a wicked smile. She nudged Hermione. "And who would you choose?"

Hermione groaned. "Not this again!"

"You spoil everything, you do. Can't you just be hypothetical?"

"Fine." Hermione pondered a while. She couldn't think of anybody who she'd like to pay her a hallucinogenic visit, and certainly not in public. Her mind wandered guiltily to the fantasies she'd had throughout her school years and a hot flush crept into her cheeks as images of Fred and George permeated her thoughts.

"Well?" said Ginny, impatiently.

"Blaise," lied Hermione.

"Mmm." Ginny nodded her approval. "Gorgeous and knows it. He apparently had a thing for me, I heard Pansy bitching in Potions one day. Although, he wouldn't lower himself with a 'filthy little blood traitor' like me." She laughed. "He really is a pompous arse."

"Yes. And I really can't imagine him with wings and a green skirt, can you? Although, being a Slytherin, I daresay he might be able to pull the colour off."

Ginny laughed, and her laugh was so infectious that Hermione could not help but giggle too, and it was like being tickled; she had no power to stop it. It felt good; a release after the day's tension.

"Oh, Kingsley, hi," said Ginny, carelessly, looking past Hermione's shoulder. Hermione whirled around to see Kingsley Shacklebolt standing at the bar. How awkward was this? The last time she'd seen him, she'd knocked a chair over and almost burst into tears in front of him. Not very classy, she chided herself.

He inclined his head slightly with a smile. "Hello, ladies." He gestured to the bar. "Can I get you a drink?"

"Firewhisky on ice," said Ginny, at once.

Kingsley looked at Hermione and smiled. "Something a little less fierce?"

"Redcurrant rum and soda, please," said Hermione, returning the smile; it was hard not to.

Kingsley ordered the drinks, and turned to Hermione, his expression showing concern. "I'm sorry about today. I wish there'd been a way of getting some extra money in."

"Oh...don't worry about it," said Hermione, forcing a smile. "There'll be other jobs."

"Yeah...but," said Kingsley, "you're damned good at what you do."

"Just nipping to the Ladies'," interrupted Ginny, tactfully, and made her way across to the cloakroom.

Hermione was glad of the distraction; Kingsley had made her blush. She cleared her throat as the bartender placed three glasses on the bar, and gestured to a nearby table.

"Shall we sit down?" she said, mildly irked to find herself nervous.

Kingsley pulled out a chair for Hermione to sit on, and set her drink in front of her. As Hermione reached for her glass, a sharp pain seared along her forearm, and she gasped, grimacing as she flexed her fingers.

"Are you okay?" asked Kingsley, concerned.

"Oh...nothing," said Hermione, squeezing her fingertips. She knew full well what it was; this pain had bothered her for two years. But she wasn't about to tell Kingsley; she knew he'd had much worse.

"Looked pretty painful to me," he said, and reached for her hand. "Quill cramp?"

"Oh, it's nothing, honestly," said Hermione, quickly, retreating her arm into her sleeve, but Kingsley caught hold of her fingertips, and began to examine her hand. Hermione closed her eyes, praying that Kingsley wouldn't investigate any further...

She felt him freeze as he pushed her sleeve up her arm; he'd seen it. She opened her eyes, and met his gaze reluctantly.

"Bellatrix Lestrange?" He gestured to the scar on Hermione's arm.

Hermione was bewildered. "How do you know it was her?"

He smiled wryly and rolled his own sleeve up. On the dark brown skin of his arm, pearly white letters stood out: _blood traitor_. Hermione gasped at the realisation, and Kingsley rolled his sleeve back down again.

"She did it to you, too?" Hermione's voice was barely a whisper.

"That and Cruciatus." He took a sip of his drink. "When I broke the Taboo, I was cornered by a few Death Eaters and Fenrir Greyback. One of those Death Eaters was Bellatrix. They'd cast Anti-Apparition wards, so I had to duel my way out of there. Not before she'd managed to inflict that on me, though." He gestured to his arm.

"We have a lot to thank Molly for," said Hermione, quietly.

Kingsley sighed. "There's still an undercurrent of defiance from some people. Many fallen Death Eaters are still alive and still promoting their crazy pure-blood ideas. Behind closed doors, of course. It's very hard to catch them doing it."

"It's sick," said Hermione, who knew full well the prejudices that some of the wizarding community still held against Muggle-borns. "I know Harry was involved in a dawn raid at Borgin's house the other week, said he found some poor girl there in a terrible state." She shook her head. "I'm one of the lucky ones; my scars are physical."

Kingsley looked at Hermione for a moment, his dark brown eyes resting on her face thoughtfully. She felt her cheeks flush self-consciously, and took another sip of her drink to compensate.

"Hermione," he said, "I've got a proposition for you."

Hermione's eyes widened slightly and she leaned forwards in anticipation. "Mmm?"

"I want you to work for me." Ignoring Hermione's expression of surprise, he carried on. "In the Department of Magical Law Enforcement; I want somebody to work with me who knows where I'm coming from, who opposes pure-blood laws as much as I do. I want someone who is intelligent, hardworking, and willing to fight for the cause. And somebody who can duel with the best," he added, as an afterthought.

Hermione was stunned. Aside from anything else, Kingsley had just paid her a barrage of compliments. She found it hard to comprehend; how did he know all this?

"What...me?" she stammered, knocking back the remainder of her drink.

Kingsley's gaze swept the table. "I don't see anyone else sitting here."

Hermione laughed; she could feel pride swelling inside her; pride at recognition for her efforts, and pride that the Minister for Magic thought she was capable. But then a thought came to her to eclipse her feelings of happiness, much like a cloud obscuring the sun.

"There's no money," she said, dully.

"There's enough in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement for another member of staff." He smiled. "What do you think?"

"Gosh, those toilets are packed!" Ginny bustled up, beaming at Hermione as she sat between her and Kingsley. "Have I missed anything?"

Hermione's gaze met Kingsley's, looking into his deep, mesmerising eyes, and he raised an eyebrow, flashing her the slightest of smiles. _Play along_, he mouthed without Ginny seeing.

"Nothing much," he said casually, and raising his glass to his lips, drained it of liquor. He addressed Hermione in a low voice as he got up from his chair. "Send me an owl."

Hermione smiled, and Ginny's gaze swept suspiciously between the two. "Will do."

He was gone in a swirl of indigo, leaving Hermione with pink cheeks, much to her annoyance.

"What was all that about?" said Ginny, interestedly.

"Nothing much," said Hermione, airily. She drained her glass. "Come on, I thought you said you didn't want to spend all night in here?"

"Hermione, you can't just leave it at that!" exclaimed Ginny, hastily finishing her drink. "Is it to do with work?"

"Maybe."

"Ah." Ginny sounded intrigued. "A new job?"

"Perhaps."

"Let me guess. Kingsley felt so guilty at letting one of his best workers go, that he's lined you up something even better than the last job."

Hermione gaped. "You've been using Extendable Ears!"

Ginny smiled. "So I'm right, then?"

"Like you just guessed it," said Hermione, darkly. "How did you know?"

Ginny rolled her eyes. "It's kind of obvious, Hermione. You're in a foul mood because you've been made redundant, and I don't blame you," she added hurriedly, for Hermione glowered, "but after a few words with Kingsley you're looking like the Kneazle that got the cream."

"I...well..." said Hermione, lamely, then lowered her voice to a hiss. "Just make sure you don't tell anyone. It's not even confirmed yet."

Ginny placed her finger on her lips. "Consider these sealed."


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Thank you to those that reviewed and have added this story to your favourites, your support is encouraging me to keep writing this story!**

**Chapter 3**

"One o'clock. Shouldn't you be in bed?"

The voice was not from a friend, or a family member. Hermione glanced up wearily at the talkative clock that she had inherited when she'd rented her flat and raised her eyebrows. It didn't speak too often, other than to warn her that she would be late for something.

"Probably. But I've a lot to think about."

The clock remained silent, and Hermione absently tapped her nose with the feather of her quill. Of course she had to accept the job. And really, she wanted to. She wasn't afraid of what the job would entail; she doubted she'd be meeting anybody as vile as Bellatrix Lestrange. The thought of her made Hermione's arm prickle, and she rubbed it, frowning. How strange that she and Kingsley should have such similar curse scars. She laughed wryly; Bellatrix would turn in her grave knowing that she'd indirectly given Hermione a fantastic career.

She put quill to parchment and began to write.

_Kingsley,_

_I've thought about your offer. Maybe we could meet and discuss terms tomorrow? Well, today, given that it's past one in the morning._

_Hope to hear from you soon,_

_Hermione_

She rolled the parchment up and crossed the room to the balcony. Having no owl herself, she relied upon her neighbour, Matilda, to lend her use of her owl. Amadeus was a handsome tawny, and often slept on Matilda's balcony, when he wasn't out hunting.

She was in luck; Amadeus was perched on the balcony, ruffling his feathers, and turned to look at Hermione out of startling amber eyes.

"Amadeus, can you do me a favour?" she whispered, holding out her arm for the owl to hop on to. "Can you take this note to Kingsley Shacklebolt, please?"

Amadeus stood patiently whilst Hermione attached the small piece of parchment to his leg, and accepted the treat that she offered him. With a low hoot, he took to the sky, and Hermione watched him until he was out of view. She wondered idly where Kingsley lived, but knew that Amadeus would have no problem finding the place.

She headed indoors and closed the balcony door, stretching her arms above her head. She needed some sleep and time to contemplate on the events of the day; not just that, but shadows under the eyes were never a good look.

Hermione skidded to a halt in front of the mirror, cursing herself for not setting an alarm to wake herself. Luckily, Amadeus had tapped at the window, bringing Kingsley's reply. He wanted to meet her at nine thirty, which had left her half an hour to get a shower, do her hair and look half-presentable.

She pointed her wand at her hair, trying to remember Ginny's hair charms. "_Capillus sursum_."

Her hair piled up on top of her head in messy tendrils, and she groaned; she'd forgotten the charm to curl her hair.

"Having problems, are we?" sniggered the mirror.

"You could help, instead of laughing," said Hermione, snappily.

"Try _Capillus reparo_, then _capillus torqueo_," said the mirror. "Then the charm you cast before."

Hermione tried it, and thankfully, it worked. Her hair looked as good as it had the night before.

"You might just have saved yourself from being sold," she told the mirror, as she straightened her blouse. She Summoned her handbag from the living room, and checking her appearance one last time, Apparated to the Ministry.

She stopped in front of Kingsley's office door and paused before knocking. Why did she feel so nervous? He'd asked her to take the job, and she wanted to take it. _Get a grip_, she told herself.

But she didn't need to knock; the door opened, and Kingsley stood there, with a smile.

"How did you-" began Hermione, then stopped as Kingsley gestured to a Foe-Glass behind him.

"Not that I deem you a foe, of course," he said, "it just lets me know who's around."

"Like a Muggle spy-hole," said Hermione. "We used to have one in our front door. Useful for deciding whether to answer or not."

Kingsley's mouth twitched slightly. "Which family member were you hiding from?"

"Grandmother. On my father's side. You?"

"My great uncle. Once he was in, he'd stay for hours." He gestured inside the room. "Sorry, I'm being rude. Come in, take a seat."

Hermione stepped into Kingsley's office; it was a humble space for saying it was the office of the Minister for Magic. There was a desk with a leather chair, bookshelves, and a few pictures in frames, of what Hermione assumed must be Kingsley's family. She sat in a chair opposite Kingsley's desk and waited.

He closed the door and crossed the room in several fluid strides, sitting opposite Hermione. "Thank you for coming."

"It's me who should be thanking you," said Hermione, with a laugh. "I'd be trawling the _Prophet_ this morning for jobs if you hadn't offered me this."

He smiled. "And listening to Celestina Warbeck on the radio. It'd drive me mad, too."

Hermione laughed; she'd never really spoken to Kingsley like this before, and decided that she liked her new colleague.

"Now, I was thinking, if you're still willing to take on the job..." He raised an eyebrow questioningly.

"Definitely," said Hermione, quickly.

"You need to know what the job involves," he said. "Basically, you'd be working for me, in Magical Law Enforcement. I daresay Harry and Arthur will have mentioned the reorganisation happening here."

"A little," said Hermione.

Kingsley allowed his gaze to move to the window, where sunlight streamed in, courtesy of Magical Maintenance. "When they suggested me as the Minister for Magic, I was delighted. Until I realised the true extent of the problem. Voldemort will not return, but he leaves behind him a legacy of pure-blood followers, who still believe that what Voldemort promoted is right. Many of his followers had jobs in the Ministry, and they continue to believe in the superiority of pure-bloods."

"I can believe it," said Hermione, softly; Draco Malfoy still regarded her with disdain when he passed her in the street.

"So, I got rid of those employees carrying the Dark Mark," said Kingsley, "and stopped donations from those who are known to associate with them, hence why we've had to cut back. However, given that Yaxley is currently in Azkaban, and Pius did not wish to return, there is a gap. A Hermione shaped gap," he added, with a smile.

Hermione felt herself blushing. "I'm flattered that you think I could take on such a senior role, Mr Shacklebolt, but..."

He laughed, clearly tickled. "We've shared a Thestral, lived under the same roof for a spell and I've bought you a drink. The least you could do is call me Kingsley."

"Oh...I wasn't being rude, I...well, I just...you know, wanted to...well, I mean, you're my boss, and...actually, not yet, but I do want to...be your boss, I mean, you be my boss..." Hermione stopped, flustered, feeling her cheeks colour. She held out her hand to Kingsley. "Hi, Kingsley. My name's Hermione."

He laughed, a deep, throaty chuckle, and took her hand. "Nice to meet you, Hermione. Where were we?"

"I was losing the power of coherent speech," said Hermione. "And you were being awfully nice about it."

"You'll fit in well round here," said Kingsley, with a grin. "Do I take it that you'd like to accept?"

"Absolutely," said Hermione, returning his smile.

"Then we should start with changing the legislation surrounding the registration of Squibs, Muggle-borns and half-bloods," he said. "It means nothing to me, and shouldn't do to anybody else, either."

"I quite agree."

He handed her several sheets of paper with printed writing on. "This is a copy of the current law. I wanted you to see if you could rewrite this and note any loopholes that there may be. This will then have to go to the Wizengamot for passing. I think I have persuaded them of my cause; however...some fear the consequences on their families."

"Amelia Bones," she said, heavily.

Kingsley nodded. "A great loss. She was highly instrumental within the Wizengamot." He paused. "If you're worried..."

"No, I'm not worried," said Hermione, although if she was truthful, the thought had crossed her mind. She knew that being a Muggle-born would make her a prime target for any ex-Death Eater, regardless of the fact that Voldemort was dead.

"You will have the best protection the Ministry can give you," he said. "I have assigned Sturgis Podmore and Dawlish to protect you, and charms have been cast over your dwelling to prevent intruders. Not that you'll need it," he added, for Hermione had allowed fear to betray her expression. He smiled. "Anyway, I'm pretty sure you can handle yourself. Didn't I hear something about an inspired escape from Xeno Lovegood's place?"

"Oh..." Hermione could feel her cheeks colouring. "Well, yes. It was just common sense, really."

"You'd be surprised how many people don't possess common sense," said Kingsley. He stood up. "Let me show you to your office."

Hermione followed Kingsley down the corridor, her footsteps silenced by the thick crimson carpet, and into one of the lifts at the end of the corridor. They stepped in and after a few seconds of jangling, the cool female voice said 'Level Two, Department of Magical Law Enforcement, including the Improper Use of Magic Office, Auror Headquarters and Wizengamot Administration Services'.

The grilles slid open, and Kingsley gestured with his hand. "After you."

Hermione stepped out of the lift, recognising her surroundings; she often came here to meet Harry for lunch.

"The Auror office," said Kingsley, pointing to a door which was slightly ajar; Hermione peered inside to see several cubicles with desks, some of which had Aurors working at them. Hestia Jones was dictating a report to her typewriter, the keys moving entirely by themselves. She turned at the sound of Kingsley's voice, and waved.

"Hestia, Hermione's going to be working in Magical Law Enforcement," said Kingsley. "I'm just showing her around."

"Brilliant," said Hestia, with a smile. "Auror training?"

"Legislation," said Hermione.

"You'll be needing one of these," said Hestia, gesturing to her typewriter. "Oh, _really_," she said, in frustration, and tugged the paper out of the typewriter. "I didn't want that bit typing!" she told the typewriter, in exasperation.

"Maybe I'll stick to my quill," said Hermione, looking doubtfully at the typewriter, which heaved a long-suffering sigh as Hestia loaded more paper into it.

They left the Auror office and continued down the corridor, paper aeroplanes swooping past them. Kingsley knocked on a large oak door and, hearing no reply, pushed the door open.

"Your office," he said, to Hermione. "It's used for interviews at the moment, but now you're here, feel free to make it your own."

"I shouldn't have cleared my desk, should I?" said Hermione ruefully. She removed her handbag from her shoulder and peered inside. She shook it and what sounded like hundreds of sheets of paper rustled from its depths. "And I filed all of my papers alphabetically."

Kingsley laughed. "In that case, I'll leave you to sort them out. If we say, start tomorrow? Nine till five?"

"That sounds brilliant," said Hermione.

Kingsley left the room, and Hermione glanced around her new office. It was pleasant; there was a window, and several portraits adorning the walls, and shelves lined with leather-bound books. She could personalise this later; for now, she was very relieved that she wouldn't be spending her daytimes listening to Witches' Hour and instead, would be doing something extremely productive and rewarding.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Thank you for adding my story to your favourites and for your reviews...I really appreciate every one of them. I apologise for the delay in posting a new chapter, nothing seemed to flow and I wasn't quite sure how quickly to take the storyline. Hope you enjoy it and I look forward to your reviews :)**

**Chapter 4**

A harassed-looking Sturgis Podmore popped his head around Hermione's office door. "Don't suppose you could sign off this search warrant, could you, Hermione?"

Hermione glanced up with a smile. "No problem."

Sturgis hurried to her desk, placing a piece of parchment in front of her. Hermione scanned the writing briefly before adding her signature to the bottom.

"Our friend Borgin clearly isn't getting the message, I take it," she said, sliding the parchment back across the desk to Sturgis. "Is this the second raid this month?"

Sturgis smiled grimly. "I'm convinced he's got something. And I think he's receiving tip-offs from somebody. Gives him time to cast Disillusionment Charms. Proudfoot's coming just in case things turn hostile."

"Get Proudfoot to sneak in round the back," said Hermione. "There's a wall that you can climb over with a good view into the shop."

Sturgis looked mildly impressed. "Is there anything you don't know?"

"Hallmarks of a misspent youth." She smiled at him. "Let me know how you get on."

"Will do," he said, and Apparated out of the office. Hermione opened her diary and began to tick things that she'd done that day. She was enjoying her new job; much as she'd scoffed at Rufus Scrimgeour's suggestion several years ago that she should work in Magical Law Enforcement, she now had to concede that he had been right.

A paper aeroplane zoomed into her office and landed neatly onto her desk. She opened the wings and read the message; she recognised the slanted, curly writing as Kingsley's.

_Hermione,_

_Can we meet to discuss the alterations to the laws surrounding Blood Status, as I am going to present it to the Wizengamot for passing later._

_Kingsley._

Hermione picked up a pile of folders from her desk and flicked through to a folder marked 'Blood Status'. This was the first project that Kingsley had assigned her; she hoped she'd not made any mistakes.

She got up and made her way to Kingsley's office, and knocked on the open door before peering around the doorframe cautiously. Kingsley was sitting at his desk, scrawling notes onto parchment, and smiled as he saw Hermione.

"You wanted to see me about the Blood Status legislation?" she asked.

"Yeah, it's nothing to worry about," he said, and Hermione wondered if her expression had betrayed her uncertainty. He gestured to a leather sofa. "I just want to make sure I know what I'm talking about when I present it to the Wizengamot."

Hermione sat on the sofa, and Kingsley sat next to her. He flicked through a few sheets of parchment, and handed it to Hermione.

"The main changes are relating to the registration of Muggle-borns," said Hermione, her eyes scanning the parchment, looking back at her own copy. "I see no reason why Blood Status should be recorded with the Ministry, and I added a clause stating that employers should not ask a witch or wizard to disclose their Blood Status."

Kingsley nodded his approval. "Good thinking. How about existing records?"

"We get rid of all records held at the Ministry. We can't control other employers, but I wrote another sub-clause stating that any employer found to discriminate on the basis of Blood Status will be fined heavily and tried by the Wizengamot."

There was a short pause, and Hermione wondered if she'd been too ambitious; was Kingsley going to tell her that what she had suggested was not practical?

He smiled. "You've covered every loophole. I'm impressed."

Hermione felt her cheeks flush at Kingsley's praise. "When are you taking this to the Wizengamot?"

"This afternoon. They should pass it; we're only taking small steps." He glanced up at the clock on the wall. "I don't know about you, but I'm starving. Fancy taking a slightly early lunch in celebration?"

"Seeing as the Minister has provided his permission," said Hermione, playfully. "Anyway, I thought the Wizengamot had to pass the laws first?"

"Call it a presumptuous celebration," said Kingsley, with a grin. He held his arm out to Hermione, who took it, and instantly felt herself hurtling through time and space, her breath forced back into her lungs, and as her feet hit solid ground, she gasped, breathing in deeply. She looked up to see a small street familiar to her from her Hogwarts days, with more shops than she remembered.

"We're in Hogsmeade," she said, in wonder.

"Thought it might make a nice change," he said, glancing around. She saw him draw his wand, and the air shimmered around them. Seeing her quizzical glance, he added, "Shield Charm. Just in case."

"Where did you have in mind?" asked Hermione, her gaze sweeping the street.

"The Three Broomsticks?" Kingsley suggested. "I hear Rosmerta has hired a new chef. Poached him from a restaurant in Diagon Alley."

"Ha, ha," said Hermione, wryly, as Kingsley grinned. "Nice pun, Ravenclaw."

"How did you guess?" asked Kingsley.

"Wit beyond measure is man's greatest treasure," said Hermione. "Although it wasn't actually that inventive."

Kingsley's lips twitched. "There's no pleasing some people."

"I'm not easy to please," said Hermione, with a grin.

"Is that so?" he asked, looking intently into her eyes, and Hermione felt a nip of satisfaction; was Kingsley flirting with her?

"Depends who it is," she said, trying to sound nonchalant. He smiled and pushed the door to the Three Broomsticks open, holding it for Hermione to go inside.

It was surprisingly quiet for lunchtime. Rosmerta was polishing glasses, and glanced briefly in Kingsley and Hermione's direction with a smile as they walked past. They sat down, Kingsley pulling a chair to for her to sit on.

"A true gentleman," observed Hermione, as he took a seat opposite her.

"I've always been brought up to do it," he said, picking up the menu on the table and offering it to Hermione. "I'd recommend the sautéed squid in seaweed, if you're feeling adventurous."

"As long as there's no Plimpy soup," said Hermione, thinking of Xeno Lovegood.

Kingsley glanced quizzically up at Hermione, quirking an eyebrow. "Come again?"

Hermione giggled. "If you know Xeno Lovegood, you'll know why." She opened the menu and perused the list of meals; they looked rather extravagant to say the least. Ten Galleons for a salad! She would have to say she was on a diet at these prices.

As if Kingsley knew what she was thinking, he added "I'm paying."

"Oh, I couldn't let you do that," said Hermione, feeling her cheeks flush.

"The Minister for Magic will find you in breach of contract if you don't," he said, with a grin.

Hermione couldn't help but laugh. "Evidently, I have little choice in the matter."

"You're a fast learner," he observed, his eyes twinkling at Hermione over the top of his menu, and much to her annoyance, she found herself averting her gaze and feeling her cheeks flood with heat. How was he doing this to her? She resumed her reading of the menu, and eventually decided on Kingsley's recommendation.

"I'll try the squid, seeing as it comes with a reputable recommendation," she said playfully, and laid the menu down. Kingsley took his wand from his pocket and waved it over a piece of parchment that had been on the table; their orders appeared in his distinctive writing. With another flick of his wand, the parchment folded itself into a dart and flew to the bar.

"How's your arm?" he asked, touching the sleeve of Hermione's robes.

"Oh...it's not been too bad today," she said. "It rarely bothers me."

Kingsley pushed her sleeve up to her elbow and traced along the pearly letters with his thumb; as he did so, her fingers prickled and she gasped, an unusual sensation tugging just behind her navel.

"Did that hurt?" he asked, glancing questioningly at her.

"No..." said Hermione, slowly; her fingers were still tingling, and she wriggled them. "It felt...strange. Like a feeling I've had before." She touched the cuff of his robes. "What about yours?"

He rolled back the sleeve of his robes to reveal his arm, the writing more prominent against his dark skin. Nervously, she touched her fingertips to the writing, and traced them with her finger. He started slightly, then relaxed.

"Anything?" she asked.

"Tingling. And...something else. I'm not sure what. Not pain." He glanced closely at her. "Did it feel like..."

"Sauteed squid?"

A waitress appeared, holding two plates, which she placed in front of Hermione and Kingsley without waiting for confirmation.

"Thank you," said Hermione, peering keenly at the squid. "This looks...interesting."

Kingsley grinned. "Where's your Gryffindor sense of adventure?"

"Sense of adventure isn't synonymous with being up for anything," said Hermione, doubtfully. "I'll trust your judgement, though."

"I'm flattered," he said, with a wicked smile.

"You should be," she replied, playfully. "I don't do this very often."

"And what might that be?"

"Trusting strange men," she said, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth as she twirled her fork in a mound of seaweed.

Kingsley's lips twitched into a smile. "Define 'strange'."

"Oh, you know the type," said Hermione airily, trying not to laugh. "Ravenclaws trying to use their wit and wisdom to impress people, with strange tastes in food..."

"You know, people tend to fear that which they envy," said Kingsley, allowing his gaze to meet Hermione's. His dark eyes sparkled with mirth and Hermione couldn't hold it any longer; she fell into fits of giggles, and pressed a serviette to her mouth to suppress them.

"You are wicked," she gasped, holding her aching sides.

"And strange."

"That too." She sighed and leaned back. "The seaweed is really nice..."

"The squid is even better. Take it from a strange, witty, wicked Ravenclaw."

She sliced into the squid, and ate a small piece; it was a strange texture. Not rubbery, but not soft either. It was rather like thick pasta cooked _al dente_, with a savoury tang to it.

"It's nice," she said, having swallowed it.

"See? Do you trust strange men now?"

Hermione glanced up at Kingsley, his dark brown eyes meeting hers. "I may need a little more persuasion..."

"I think that can be arranged," he said, casually, though his eyes gleamed mischievously.

They continued to talk and eat, and Hermione found that she and Kingsley shared a similar sense of humour. She could appreciate his intellect and subtle wit; then again, the Sorting Hat had suggested that she would have done well in Ravenclaw.

"We really should get back," she said, somewhat regretfully, surveying the empty plates on the table. "Sturgis will be back from his raid and he'll need me to help with the paperwork."

Kingsley surveyed Hermione over the rim of his glass with interest. "I knew there was a reason why I hired you. We should get back, I've got to take the Blood Status legislation to the Wizengamot for passing." He withdrew a handful of coins from his pocket and counted them onto a silver saucer, before standing up and offering his arm to Hermione. She took it, and no sooner had she touched Kingsley's arm, she felt the familiar bodily constriction associated with Apparition, and then her feet met the thick red carpet of the Ministry offices, and Kingsley was standing next to her, dusting his robes down.

"Thank you for lunch," she said, with a smile.

"The pleasure is mine. Although it's all downhill from here. Ten minutes maximum for lunch and no breaks."

She giggled. "I'd take you seriously if you weren't a Ravenclaw. I hope it goes smoothly with the Wizengamot."

"I'll let you know how it goes," he said, and Disapparated again in a swirl of indigo. Hermione smiled; she'd been lucky to land such a job with such a relaxed, pleasant boss like Kingsley. He was genuine, honest and dependable. And had a wicked sense of humour to boot. No complications, no loopholes, no frills. It was an ideal arrangement.

Until, the dreams began.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Thank you for your reviews; I am glad that you're enjoying it. This chapter sees a lot of development and some risqué scenes; for that reason the rating has been increased to M. Please review and let me know what you think.**

**Chapter 5**

A door creaked in the distance, enough to jolt Hermione into conscious thought. She groped for the lamp on her bedside table, but her fingers only closed upon the air. Velvety darkness enveloped her, and she could only make out the dim outlines of what she assumed must be her furniture.

She strained her ears, convinced she could hear sounds of movement in the still of the night; the war had left her wary. Another creak; not a door. It sounded like floorboards. Somebody was there. Panic rose inside her and made her heart crash against her chest like jeans in a tumble dryer. More creaks. She hadn't time to move; she should lay here beneath the covers, and maybe they wouldn't realise she was there, unless they cast _homenum revelio_.

The door to her room creaked open; somebody was there. A sudden draught of cold air swept over her body, and Hermione opened her eyes, to see a dark figure standing above her, holding the covers in their hands. She gasped in fright, and a large hand pressed against her lips, gentler than she had been expecting.

"Don't move..."

The voice was whispered, and clearly male, and Hermione whimpered against his fingers, trying to struggle away from him. He moved closer to her, and she felt his fingers trail along her jaw, and to her lips. Against her will, she could feel her body responding to his touch in a silent betrayal, trembling as his fingers moved down her neck and to her collarbone.

She could feel the warmth of his breath on her skin, sending shivers of delight down her spine, and felt soft lips press against the nape of her neck. She longed to know who the lips belonged to and who was eliciting such feelings of want and desire from her; the only clue she had was his heavy breathing, which only served to heighten her state of arousal.

Gentle fingers trailed down her arms, to her hands, and before she was aware of what was happening, her hands had been bound together above her head; she struggled, but the man laughed, a deep, throaty chuckle.

"Don't hurt me," she whispered, as he knelt over her, his muscular thighs pinning her to the bed.

"Never," he murmured, his voice deep and mellifluous, soothing the tension in her body, taut with desperation for him to touch her. His fingers were trailing along her midriff, and she was arching uncontrollably against him, trying to guide him to where she wanted to be touched, but he laughed softly and pulled back from her. The whimper of disappointment was torn from her lips before she could stop it, and he laughed.

"Did you like that?" He spoke teasingly, tracing his finger along her jaw.

Hermione could only nod; she knew that to speak would betray her desire, and she hated feeling out of control, like he had a hold on her.

And then she felt his lips claim hers in a deep kiss, and she could not help but respond to him, gasping as his tongue darted into her mouth, and felt the ache of yearning inside her, an ache that emanated from the pit of her stomach and moved lower to rest persistently between her legs, and she was pushing her hips against his body to relieve it. He was taking her to the edge, tipping her into the depths of frustration, and he knew he was doing it, but never quite gave her what she wanted, kept her wanting, needing more, until she was sure she would have betrayed everything she held dear to her for just one touch from him, one delightful caress.

Her eyes flickered open as his fingers ventured south, and she gazed desperately into his deep brown eyes, pleading for release.

"Kingsley, please," she groaned, biting her lip and writhing against his fingers that moved tantalisingly lower down her midriff, and into the flimsy material of her underwear, and this was it, he was going to release her into blissful euphoria, ripping through her like a tornado...

She awoke with a gasp; her sheets were tangled around her limbs, damp with sweat. As she surroundings swam into bleary eyed focus, she whimpered softly in disappointment; it had been a dream. The strong arms that had held her down, the soft lips that had brushed against her neck and the gentle fingers that had touched her body had all been a delicious dream.

Kingsley's arms. Kingsley's lips. Kingsley's fingers.

Oh, Merlin.

She pushed her hands despairingly through her hair; whatever had brought a dream like that on? Since when had she wanted Kingsley to touch her in that way? She couldn't recall a moment where realisation had dawned upon her, but now she thought about it, he was everything she wanted. His tall, commanding presence had always appealed to her, and his voice had always had those calm, reassuring tones. Measured, solid, dependable. Yet, so erotic in a sexual context. Those dark eyes piercing the depths of her own in a way that made Hermione wonder if the man was a Legilimens. She'd better hope not, now.

The persistent ache between her legs intensified, and she sighed softly, resigning herself to the fact that if anything, it would be her own fingers, rather than Kingsley's, providing a release.

~oOo~

Hermione's mother had been a keen advocate of sayings and proverbs throughout Hermione's youth; 'too many cooks' and all that nonsense. However, Hermione found herself recalling one of Dr Granger's favourite aphorisms; 'the devil makes work for idle thumbs'. No doubt it had been chosen to satisfy Hermione's inquisitive nature, for she had always asked questions as a child. And she couldn't help but note how appropriate it was now.

With this in mind, Hermione had chosen to rise at five a.m., had showered, got dressed, emptied the rubbish, washed and ironed her robes, and made breakfast. She had elected to do these chores non-magically; she needed something to occupy her mind.

Why? The question had flitted around her mind like a butterfly intoxicated with nectar, and she was no nearer to finding the answer. Why Kingsley? Why now? What had changed? She recalled the first time she had met him, when the Order had escorted Harry from Privet Drive. He'd smiled at her and she'd felt instantly reassured, but by what, she wasn't sure. She hadn't felt a swell of desire in her stomach, or butterflies, or felt coy. So why now? Was it the flirtatious verbal tennis match over lunch that had initiated it?

A tap at the window jolted her from her thoughts; a tawny owl was looking at her out of startling amber eyes. She hurried to the window and opened it, reaching in her pocket for some coins, but the owl held his foot forward, a small scroll tied to it. Puzzled, she took the scroll, and unrolled it as the owl flew away.

_You are officially a star. They passed it, every clause. Will speak to you later about it._

_Kingsley._

Hermione felt a surge of relief wash over her; it meant more to her than she'd first thought. With the relief came a tingle of satisfaction; Kingsley must have been thinking of her to send her an owl. Though he was probably only doing so out of courtesy; he was just being a professional employer. She felt a small pang of disappointment at the thought.

It didn't stop her from folding the parchment carefully and placing it in her jewellery box for safekeeping.

~oOo~

Hermione glanced up at the clock in her office and got up hurriedly, realising that she was due to be at a briefing for her department. Kingsley led the meeting, and kept everybody informed about new initiatives.

As she headed out into the corridor at a brisk walk, Arthur Weasley fell into step beside her, a folder underneath his arm.

"Morning," he said, cheerfully. "Got anything to mention at the meeting?"

Hermione consulted her notebook, flicking through the pages. "Not much. Just that we are planning to raid some more properties belonging to the Malfoys. Borgin's hearing needs to be pencilled in after Sturgis found those Sedative Draughts."

Arthur nodded his approval. "It makes you wonder how long he's been using them. And more to the point, for what purpose."

"We're still waiting on St Mungo's to try and reverse the Memory Charm placed upon Lucretia Danvers so that she can testify. That is, if she is willing."

"Poor girl," said Arthur, shaking his head regretfully.

They joined the stream of Ministry employees making their way into a large room where many golden chairs were set out, upholstered in deep purple. As Hermione glanced up, she felt her stomach writhe pleasantly; Kingsley was standing at the front of the room, speaking to Dawlish. Colour crept into her cheeks as memories of her dreams flooded into her mind, and she sat down quickly, hoping not to draw attention to herself.

"If you can take a seat..." Kingsley's deep, measured tones echoed through the room, and Hermione trembled; she recalled that wonderful voice whispering sinful things into her ear as his fingers had explored her body.

"We'll start with some good news," said Kingsley, once the chatter had lulled. "As some of you may know, we have been working on changing the legislation relating to Blood Status. I'm pleased to say that yesterday, Hermione Granger proposed some key changes and the Wizengamot passed all of these without question."

Several heads swivelled to look at Hermione, and she blushed as people began to clap. She risked a daring glance at Kingsley; as their gazes met, he gave her the slightest wink, so subtly that she wondered if she had imagined it, but the smile that played around his full lips told her otherwise.

"We're planning a series of raids on known residences of ex-Death Eaters, so if anybody hears anything or knows of any properties linked to the Wanted List, send an owl to Sturgis, he's co-ordinating the raids." His gaze swept the room. "Any other business?"

Three hands shot up, one Arthur's, and Kingsley nodded towards one of them. "Hestia?"

"There's a collection going round for Reg and Mary Cattermole, they've just had a baby girl," she said, and the room broke into applause. "Any donations, there's a box in the Auror office."

"Thank you. Dawlish?"

"There's a workshop on protective charms on Level Two, tomorrow afternoon, for all trainee Aurors to attend."

Kingsley nodded in acknowledgement. "Arthur?"

"Yes...just to let people know, Borgin will stand trial tomorrow for his part in the kidnapping of Lucretia Danvers," said Arthur.

"A big step," said Kingsley, "which wouldn't have been possible without the hard work of those involved. Thank you." He glanced around again. "If that's all...let's go. Have a great week, everyone."

People got to their feet and began to move, and Hermione joined the procession, jostled along in the crowd. A hand grasped her arm, and she whirled around, to see Kingsley. She gasped, and he grinned.

"Did I scare you?" he said.

"Oh...no, of course not," she said, and found that she could not look him in the eyes without feeling hot and flustered. "Thank you for the owl. It was a lovely gesture."

He shrugged. "It's only right that I keep you informed. They were absolutely fine about it. It means we can start proceedings against employers, should they be found in possession of Blood Status records."

"Yes, I need to meet with Minerva at some point to discuss Hogwarts' new policy," she said. "And Sturgis and I need to speak with the Healers about Lucretia; we need a timescale as to when she can testify."

Kingsley nodded his approval. "Well, when you've done that, maybe we could meet and go through the evidence for Borgin's trial. We need it to be watertight." He stopped as they neared his office, and turned to her. "That work really was fantastic, you know. There wasn't a single loophole."

Hermione could feel the corners of her mouth twitching into a small smile, and tried hard to fight it, opting to bite her lip to suppress the urge to show her satisfaction. He was looking at her now, and his eyes were so deep, and mesmerising, that she couldn't help but stare back, and she found herself thinking of the way he had touched her in her dreams, and prayed that he wasn't a Legilimens. She'd know, anyway; Legilimency was not a passive process and required the Legilimens to break into the Occlumens' mind.

"Thank you," she said, eventually, aware that the moment had gone on a little too long for her liking; she didn't want to complicate things. "What time shall we meet?"

Kingsley withdrew a small diary from his pocket, and consulted it, frowning slightly. "Damn, it'll have to be tomorrow, I've got to oversee the training session for the new Aurors." He closed the small book with a snap. "Tomorrow morning?"

"Absolutely fine," Hermione assured him.

He smiled. "I look forward to it."

He headed into his office and Hermione pressed her lips together, realising that despite not wanting to complicate things, it seemed as though that ship had already sailed.

~oOo~

Hermione glanced up as Dawlish plonked himself into a chair opposite her. He grinned knowingly at her, and she frowned at him.

"Do I have a Floo smudge?" she asked him, somewhat irritably, reaching for a hand mirror.

"Nope," said Dawlish, in an infuriating I-know-something-you-don't manner.

"Well, what, then?" She was finding that her patience was ebbing away fast.

Dawlish leaned towards her. "I see the way you are with him. Wide eyes, batting your eyelashes..."

Hermione eyed Dawlish coldly. "I suggest you shut up, Dawlish, before I set one of Ginny Weasley's hexes upon you."

"You're in love with our esteemed Minister, aren't you?" he persisted. "It's alright, you can tell me."

"Back off, Dawlish," snarled Hermione, standing up and snatching her wand from inside her robes, but then Kingsley entered the room in navy robes, and her breath caught in her throat; he looked gorgeous.

"Something the matter?" he asked, glancing quizzically from Hermione to Dawlish.

"Dawlish is propagating rumours," she snapped, pointing at him. Kingsley looked at Dawlish and gestured with his head towards the door. Dawlish left the room with a grin, which Hermione longed to curse off his face.

Kingsley turned to Hermione, and he was so close to her now, so dangerously close that she could feel his body heat, and he was staring at her.

"Dawlish told me," he said, softly.

Hermione felt her breath catch in her throat; her heart thudded hard against her chest, and panic surging through her veins. She'd wrecked it all now; things would be awkward, Kingsley wouldn't want to speak to her...

"I'm sorry," she whispered, but then Kingsley tipped her chin up with his fingers to look at him, and he was breathing heavily, gazing into her eyes, and he ran his tongue around his lips, full lips that Hermione longed to feel, crushing against hers. There was a carnal glint in his eyes that thrilled her; she'd never been as aware of her own sexuality, the swell of desire in the pit of her stomach, the ache of longing between her legs as he slid his hand around the curve of her backside and pulled her into him.

"Kingsley..." she whispered, and broke off as his lips claimed hers, his fingers tangling in her curls at the nape of her neck, her stomach writhing with desire. She could feel him growing hard against her, and the friction between them was too much; she wanted him to take her, hear him cry out as he slid inside her, feel the swell of him inside her, his fingers gripping her hips in desperation. He groaned into her mouth, and the sound of him losing control made Hermione tremble, her skin prickling with the anticipation of what he would do to her...

And then she was spiralling upwards, invisible arms pulling her up, as though rescuing her from drowning, but Hermione wanted to drown, wanted Kingsley to release her, but she was powerless to stop it as she broke through the surface of her consciousness, and though as in water, gasped for breath, her eyes staring wildly through the inky darkness.

_Not again_.

She groaned in frustration and thumped her pillow with her fist; how she wished her dreams wouldn't plague her in this way. Every night for the past week, Kingsley had starred in her midnight movies, and every morning, she awoke with the swell of desire in her stomach and an ache of longing between her legs. She'd not surrendered to the temptation of release yet; maybe that would stop her dreams. Get him out of her mind.

She allowed her hand to stray lower, beneath the insubstantial lace of her underwear, and could feel how desperate for release she was by the moistness that covered her fingertips. She wondered how Kingsley's fingers would feel inside her; long and slender, and imagined him gazing intently into her eyes as he slid them deeper inside her, working hard on her. She moaned as she pushed her fingers deeper inside herself, hitting that spot that would tip her over the edge into euphoric oblivion, and gasping as her muscles contracted around her fingers.

"Kingsley..." she whispered softly, gazing up to the ceiling, wishing that he were there to kiss her, to run his fingers over her body. She wanted him so badly, wanted him to be inside her, but this would have to do, and she could feel the ache rising inside her, throbbing almost painfully, and knew her release was upon her.

She cried out, his name on her lips, as her climax broke over her in a wave of euphoria, and aftershock waves of pleasure lapped over her, leaving her limp and trembling.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Thank you so much for your reviews, I really do appreciate them and you raise some interesting points! I am going to try to bring in different characters and include more of the political side, so let me know what you think. Please be warned; this chapter involves darker themes, hence the M rating.**

**Chapter 6**

"More potatoes?"

Mrs Weasley hovered next to Hermione, holding a large bowl and spoon.

"Oh, no thank you, Molly," said Hermione, holding her hand up. "I've got plenty."

Mrs Weasley frowned. "Hmm. You look as though you've lost weight." She surveyed Hermione closely. "You're not doing too much at work, are you?"

"I'm fine, honestly," persisted Hermione. "I...had a large lunch. Perk of the job."

Slightly mollified, Mrs Weasley placed the dish back down and bustled around the rest of the table. Hermione returned her gaze to her plate; that hadn't been a complete lie. She had indulged at lunch; the Ministry canteen workers were always generous. But there was something else on her mind.

"Don't mind Mum, she's just worried that you're overdoing it," said Ron, in a low aside. He placed his hand on her shoulder. "You are okay, aren't you?"

"I'm fine," said Hermione, as politely as she could manage. She wished Ron wouldn't touch her in that way; it brought back unwelcome memories.

"So, how's your new job?" asked George, from across the table. "Is Dad driving you mad yet with his gadgets?"

"Now really, George," said Mr Weasley, in exasperation. "They're not _mine_, they're just things that I find."

"And keep," added George, in an undertone. "So what's Kings like as a boss then?"

At the mention of his name, Hermione felt a tiny jolt in her stomach and dropped her eyes to her plate, trying not to give anything away.

"Nice," she said, as indifferently as she could manage. "He's got the right ideas about changing things at the Ministry."

George nodded. "Wicked dueller as well. What he can't do with a wand isn't worth knowing."

"I'll bet," said Ginny, with a mischievous smile.

"_Ginny_," said Mrs Weasley, in exasperation.

"Oh, come on, Mum," said Ginny, "he's tall, dark and handsome. I bet he's got loads of women after him. I bet he's had loads, as well-"

Hermione's fork clattered from her hand onto her plate; the sudden sound made everyone jump.

"Sorry," said Hermione quickly, picking up the fork. She could feel Ginny's eyes on her, and had a feeling that the younger girl knew exactly what she was thinking.

"Who's for sponge pudding?" said Mrs Weasley, getting up. "And no, George, you can't have double helpings," she added, as George opened his mouth.

"I'll pass, thank you," said Hermione, getting up. "I really should be going anyway; I've got a report to finish."

"That means I can have Hermione's," said George, only to receive a slap from Mrs Weasley.

"So soon?" said Ron, and Hermione felt irritated; she'd thought she'd made it clear about their relationship, or rather, a lack of.

"Work calls," she said, forcing an apologetic smile. "I'll Floo from the living room."

"I'll see you out," said Ginny, getting up.

They made their way into the living room, and Ginny closed the door with a snap. "Spill."

"Spill what?" asked Hermione, feigning innocence.

Ginny was leaning casually against the doorframe, a knowing smile curling her lips. "You fancy the arse off our esteemed Minister, don't you?"

"Ginny!" exclaimed Hermione, scandalised at the younger girl's forthright statement. "Don't be ridiculous."

"You didn't seem so casual when you were dropping your cutlery on the table."

"My hand slipped. It's an easy thing to do."

"Especially when you're crushing on somebody."

"I am not crushing on Kingsley Shacklebolt," said Hermione, in exasperation. "Why does it matter, anyway?"

"Ah." Ginny's eyes gleamed in triumph. "So you are, then."

"Did I say that?"

"You didn't have to. You're rubbish at lying."

Hermione sighed. "Give it up. He's my boss."

"Doesn't stop you liking him."

"Then there's no problem, because I don't," said Hermione, firmly.

Ginny sighed. "Mione, this is me you're talking to. We can share anything, you know that."

"Yes, I know," said Hermione, patiently, "and I don't fancy him. He's just my boss."

"Hmmm." Ginny folded her arms. "I'm not convinced."

Hermione sighed wearily. "Fine. Look, I'm going. I'll owl you."

She grabbed a handful of glittering dust from the pot on the mantelpiece, and leapt into the emerald flames, feeling terrible for lying to her closest female friend, but even worse for lying to herself.

~oOo~

Hermione returned from lunch to find a stack of owl post on her desk; she sighed and began to sift through it. One was marked 'Urgent' and Hermione opened this one first. She felt her stomach writhe pleasantly as she recognised the slanted handwriting.

_Hermione,_

_Just had word from St. Mungo's that Lucretia Danvers is willing to testify against Borgin; the Memory Charm has been successfully reversed. I need to obtain a statement but think it would be best if a female accompanied me; she may not wish to disclose to a male, given the nature of the attack. Come to my office as soon as you get this._

_Kingsley_

She folded the parchment neatly and placed it into a drawer, which she locked; she knew the importance of keeping paperwork secure. Part of her felt a warm glow of pleasure; Kingsley had chosen her to accompany him. He could have picked anyone, but he chose her. And yet, part of her chided herself for being so _girly_ about the whole thing. She was his employee; there would be nobody else suitable for going.

"Get a grip," she muttered to herself, throwing her travelling cloak around herself.

"Of what?"

She whirled around, recognising the deep, calm voice, and her gaze fell upon Kingsley. She had to work to stop her mouth from falling open; he was wearing a tailored black suit, evidently to fit in with Muggle London, and looked gorgeous. His trousers accentuated his muscular thighs, and she reluctantly dragged her gaze back upwards.

"Oh...er...nothing," she said, with a smile. "I got your owl."

"Great. Then we'll go now. I just thought we'd be more likely to obtain a statement together, rather than just me. I gather she's in a bit of a state."

"Poor girl," said Hermione fervently, and subconsciously rubbed her forearm. Kingsley glanced at her, concern in his eyes, and stepped closer to her, touching where the scar was. A tiny impulse, like a small electric shock, sparked along Hermione's arm, and she gasped; Kingsley had jumped, too, and was staring at her, puzzled.

"Did you feel that?" he asked, softly.

Hermione nodded; the writing was tingling now, but not unpleasantly. Kingsley pushed her sleeve back and ran his fingers over the writing; she trembled and glanced up into his eyes. It hadn't felt painful; more like...

"Not painful?" he asked, slowly.

Hermione stared back at him. "No..."

He frowned slightly. "I felt it too...the same."

"Do you know of anybody else with scars like these?" she asked.

Kingsley smiled wryly. "Only the Death Eaters. Bellatrix saved these for best, I believe. Mudbloods and blood traitors who she viewed as a threat. Oh, and Harry's scar. But I doubt that we're inadvertent Horcruxes of Bellatrix Lestrange."

Hermione flexed her fingers; she couldn't describe what she'd felt. It had almost been...pleasurable. She'd felt that tug behind her navel again, but couldn't work out if that had been because of Kingsley or the scar.

"Maybe St Mungo's might know?" she suggested.

Kingsley shrugged. "Possibly." He held his arm out to Hermione. "Come on. The sooner we get there, the more likely she is to give a statement."

Hermione took his arm, and after seconds of the familiar sensations of Apparition, felt her feet slam into the floor; stumbling, she felt strong hands grasp her waist to stop her from falling. Memories surged into her mind of Kingsley's hands gripping her hips in desperation as he knelt over her in her dreams, and an unwelcome heat flooded into her cheeks.

"Are you okay?" he said, softly, and the intensity of his gaze set her blood on fire; raging oceans of red hot liquid cascading through her veins, her heart beating furiously against her ribcage. This was dangerous, she knew it; she had to break the eye contact, had to stop herself from drowning in those deep brown eyes, but she longed to surrender to sweet desire, and he was rendering her powerless.

"Just...a little dizzy," she heard herself say, as if her voice was separate from her body. "I'm fine."

He gestured with his head towards the opening in the alleyway where they had Apparated. "Shall we?"

Hermione nodded and they fell into step together, footsteps resonating between the narrow, dank walls. Her heart was still thudding hard against her chest; she prayed that she hadn't been too obvious, but his hands on her waist had been too much.

They merged into the hustle and bustle of the main street where St. Mungo's was situated, jostled along by busy shoppers. Hermione wondered if passers-by would think that she and Kingsley were dating; she allowed a small smile to escape her lips, and Kingsley looked at her quizzically.

"What are you grinning at, Ms Granger?" he asked, teasingly.

"Not a lot," she said, airily, staring straight ahead of her. "Bit inquisitive, aren't we?"

"Would you expect anything less from a Ravenclaw?"

"Most definitely not."

"So, are you going to enlighten me?"

"On what?"

"Your wicked smile."

"You'd call it wicked?"

"There was a twinkle in your eye. Therefore, it was wicked. Or mischievous."

"I'll leave you to decide that one," said Hermione, as flirtatiously as she dared.

Kingsley laughed softly, and it was more of a playful growl, that made the tiny hairs at the nape of Hermione's neck stand on end. "I'll let you know."

They stopped outside a large window with a dated display; Hermione recognised the model with the green pinafore dress. Kingsley gestured with his head to the model.

"We're here to see Lucretia Danvers," he said, as the model nodded in acknowledgement and they stepped through the glass, into the foyer of St. Mungo's. Several witches and wizards were sitting down, reading papers or trying to surreptitiously hide magical injuries.

"We need to be on the fourth floor, Spell Damage," said Kingsley, glancing up at a floor plan.

Hermione followed Kingsley up a flight of stairs, affording herself a good view of his backside; even though she'd never felt it, she could imagine how it would feel, as he knelt over her and murmured sinful things into her ear...

"...list of questions, not too probing."

Hermione glanced at Kingsley as he turned to face her, realising that she'd not been listening to a word he'd said. "Mmm."

He looked concerned. "Are you okay? If it's too much..."

"Oh...no, I'll be fine," she said, with a smile. "I'll need that list before we go in."

He handed her a roll of parchment from inside his suit jacket, and she unrolled it, her eyes scanning through the questions. They seemed fairly straightforward; hopefully Lucretia would give them the evidence they needed.

"Shall we?" Kingsley gestured to some doors on their left, and she followed him in. A Healer sporting lime green robes bustled up to them.

"Minister," she said, inclining her head. "We've managed to reverse the Memory Charm. She's still in a sensitive state...we don't fully know the extent of the damage to her..." She trailed off, and Hermione could imagine the horrors that Lucretia had endured...unbidden, memories of her torture at Bellatrix's hands flooded her mind, and her screams echoed in her ears as she recalled the blade of Bellatrix's knife, flashing silver against her neck...

"I've brought Ms. Granger to assist," explained Kingsley. "I thought Lucretia would respond better to a woman."

The Healer smiled kindly at Hermione. "I'll take you to her, and leave you to it."

Hermione nodded, and the Healer showed her into a small room, where a small, blonde-haired young woman was sitting. She looked pale, yet managed a watery smile when Hermione entered the room.

"Hello, Lucretia," said Hermione, offering her hand to the girl, "I understand you feel ready to speak about what happened with Mr Borgin."

Lucretia nodded; Hermione could see the glistening of tears in her eyes, and she squeezed the girl's hand reassuringly.

"If you need me to stop, I will," she said, softly. "You're really brave for doing this." She took the parchment that Kingsley had given her from her pocket, and a dictation quill, not dissimilar to that used by a certain Rita Skeeter; the only difference being that this quill didn't fabricate stories. "Can you describe, in your own words, what happened on the night of August 8th?"

Lucretia took a deep breath. "We were on a night out down Diagon Alley. Just me and a few girls. We'd been in the Leaky Cauldron for a drink; we had one shot of Firewhiskey each, and decided to move on to Libera. It's livelier in there.

"So we went to leave. I saw him; he-"

"Saw who?" interrupted Hermione.

Lucretia shuddered. "Borgin. He was at the bar, talking to Tom. You know, the barman. And he looked at us; it made me feel scared. Uneasy." She twisted her hands in her lap. "I went to the bathroom before we left, and said I'd meet the others in Libera. The last thing I remember is...looking in the mirror...and seeing him behind me. Then..."

"You're doing really well," said Hermione, gently. "What do you remember next?"

Lucretia swallowed hard, her fingers whitening as she gripped her chair. "A room. I was on a bed. He'd bound me up with rope-"

"Borgin?"

"Yes. He...he laughed when he did it. He wanted me to...put up a fight. Struggle." She bowed her head. "Then another man came in. He was blond. Tall. Borgin told him to...to...hold me down."

Hermione wasn't sure how much more she wanted to hear, but knew that if Lucretia testified, the evidence would ensure than Borgin would rot in Azkaban.

"The blond man held my wrists," she continued, her voice toneless, as if she was shutting herself off from the harsh reality of her ordeal. "Borgin got on top of me, and..." A tear sprang from her eye and she took a deep, shuddering breath. "He attacked me. I tried to fight him, tried to kick him away, but he laughed...the blond one was laughing...I begged him to stop, that he was hurting me...he just laughed and hurt me more. His hands were all over me...I felt sick...ashamed..."

Hermione stared at the girl, feeling tears pouring silently down her face...how could she be so brave, after what she had endured? Memories of Bellatrix pinning her onto the floor, carving her twisted tattoo into her arm, flooded back to her and she bit her lip, trying to stem her tears.

"When he'd finished, he let the other one...do it, too," she whispered. "It hurt...I screamed, and he was laughing...he wanted me to keep screaming..."

Hermione grasped the girl's hand, unable to help herself. "They'll rot for what they've done to you, believe me."

Lucretia gazed out of the window, the leaden sky outside reflected in her eyes. "I escaped. I'm one of the lucky ones."

"You've been really brave," said Hermione, comfortingly. "This should be enough. Do you have any idea who the blond man was? Any distinguishing marks?"

Lucretia frowned. "He was really blond. Slim. Pointed chin."

Hermione stared at Lucretia, realisation dawning upon her. "Young or old?"

"Old," said Lucretia. "And he carried a cane. It had a snake's head on top."

She should have known; Lucius Malfoy. She recalled the way he'd watched in sick fascination as Bellatrix had tortured her, his tongue flickering around his lips, as if he'd wanted to join in the fun. Tears stung her eyes again and she turned away; Lucretia needed her to be strong, not a sobbing wreck haunted by the demons of her past.

Hermione got to her feet, and took hold of Lucretia's hands as the younger girl stood also. "Thank you. You've stopped them from doing the same to other girls."

"Part of me wishes...that they'd not undone the Memory Charm," said Lucretia, softly. "They give me Dreamless Sleep, but...you can't sleep every hour of the day."

"You need support," said Hermione. "You need to talk to somebody about this. Don't bottle it up; you need to understand that it's not your fault."

Lucretia nodded slowly, and Hermione sensed that this was a good point to stop. She thanked Lucretia for giving a statement and left the room. Kingsley was sitting in the corridor and got to his feet as he saw her.

"Can we go?" she said, her voice catching in her throat; she suddenly felt panicky, tearful.

"What's the matter?" Kingsley took hold of her hands and stared intently at her. "Hermione, what happened?"

Hermione pressed her lips together, trying to suppress her emotion, but the anguish rose up inside her, burning her throat, and she collapsed into tears. She felt Kingsley pull her close and wrap his arms around her, one hand stroking her hair softly as she sobbed into the dark material of his suit.

"Just...just seeing her...brought it all back...Bellatrix..." she gasped, trying to regain control of herself.

"Shhh..." he murmured, into her hair, and gradually, Hermione felt the panic ebb away, and her breathing become more regular, and she became aware of the fact that Kingsley was holding her. She could feel one of his hands caressing her hair, and the other hand moving across her back in small, circular motions. She felt inexplicably safe; reassured. She could have stood like this forever, breathing in the scent of him, the characteristic fragrance he wore, for it soothed her and made her feel protected.

She reluctantly stepped back and allowed herself to laugh weakly. "So much for being able to cope."

Kingsley shook his head. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have put you in that situation. Not when you've been through so much..."

"Kingsley, it's not your fault," she said, softly. "I chose to do it. And anyway, we've got what we need. Borgin will go down for this."

He surveyed Hermione for a few seconds with interest. "You really are a Gryffindor."

She chuckled softly. "Took your time with that one, Ravenclaw."

Both laughing, they turned and left the ward, walking side by side.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Thank you again for your reviews; I'm checking my e-mails regularly and getting a little too excited when I see them! Our girl is falling...and she doesn't quite know what to make of it.**

**Chapter 7**

She strained her eyes through the darkness; she could see the dim glow of streetlights through the blinds at her window. There was a certain familiarity about her surroundings, and just as she pondered where she was, she heard a soft chuckle from behind her, a deep, throaty noise that sent thrills surging through her body, and yet frustration overwhelmed any delicious feelings of longing she had, for these dreams had plagued her relentlessly.

"Me again."

Hermione knew who that voice belonged to. She swallowed hard, her tongue sticking to the roof of her mouth, so dry was she in anticipation. "Mmm."

She started as his hand touched her shoulder, and trailed down her arm. "Have you missed me?"

She arched her neck as his fingers gently crept into her hair, wishing that her body wouldn't betray her in this way. "Need you ask?"

He laughed. "I'll take that as a yes." He leant closer to Hermione, so close that she could feel the warmth of his breath against her neck, and she shivered, wanting him so badly.

"Kingsley..." she breathed, and caught hold of his hand, entwining her slender fingers with his. Turning to face him, she tried not to catch her breath as his dark brown eyes stared intently into hers, and she bit her lip, wanting him so badly but not wanting to give him that satisfaction.

He laughed softly again and allowed his thumb to caress her cheekbone. "You look sexy when you do that."

"Do what?"

"Bite your lip."

"It'd be sexier if you did it for me," breathed Hermione, returning the intensity of Kingsley's gaze, parting her lips slightly and allowing her tongue to flicker around them.

A wicked smile curled his full lips, lips that Hermione longed to feel against her own. "Is that a request?"

Hermione paused, torn between being desperate and nonchalant. Her heart was thumping against her ribcage with the anticipation of what Kingsley could do to her, and she could feel her cheeks flushing with desire and need.

"It might be," she whispered, "or it might be an order..."

"It would only be an order," he murmured, "if I didn't want to do it."

"And do you?"

He didn't need to verbalise; his lips claimed hers in a desperate, hungry embrace, and she whimpered as his tongue slid into her mouth and began a delicate exploration of her, his fingers tangling into her hair as their bodies moved closer. She moaned out loud as he sucked her bottom lip so gently that it was almost torturous, and she wanted him to be rough with her, to satisfy the lustful urges coursing through her.

He rolled over so that she was pinned between his legs, his muscular thighs visible through his robes, and pressed his forehead gently against hers, their noses touching. He was breathing heavily as he brushed a stray strand of hair away from her face.

"Tease," he growled, softly, his gaze never leaving hers.

"You're the one who keeps gatecrashing my dreams."

He allowed his lips to brush hers softly, almost as if he was trying to restrain himself, but she could hear his slightly ragged breathing, feel the pounding of his heart against her own, and as he lowered his body to hers, the swell of his arousal.

"Please," she cried, breaking free of his lips, wanting him to know how desperate she was for him to take her, longing for him to respond likewise.

He made no comment, but began to kiss her neck, his lips brushing fleetingly against her skin, and she cried out in frustration, arching her body into him, writhing as erotically as she knew how, trying to gain some response from his body.

"Kingsley, please," she groaned, and moved her hand beneath his robes, her fingers curling around his arousal, and at her touch, he growled, thrusting himself against her. She tugged at the buttons of his trousers and slid her hand inside, feeling every delightful inch of him pulsating at her touch. He was groaning deeply now, all self-control abandoned, and he tugged almost roughly at her underwear, pushing it aside to enter her; he slid inside her with a deep groan of longing, and Hermione cried out, feeling the swell of him inside her...

"Oh!"

She jerked awake, staring around wildly, so suddenly had she awoke. Frustration and desperation overwhelmed her as she realised that, yet again, Kingsley's visit was nothing more than a nocturnal illusion of her imagination.

She sat up and pushed her hair back from her face, damp with perspiration. Two weeks of relentless dreaming of a man she couldn't have. She couldn't keep doing this. Grasping a quill and a piece of parchment from her bedside table, she hastily scrawled a note.

_Poppy,_

_I'm having trouble sleeping and wondered if you could send me some Dreamless Sleep? Just a week's supply would be wonderful._

_Hoping you are well,_

_Hermione Granger._

She crossed to the balcony and opened the door, breathing deeply as the chilly breeze tousled her hair with gentle fingers. She looked across to Matilda's balcony; Amadeus was not there. She'd have to wait until he got back.

She gazed up into the sky; stars winked knowingly at her from their celestial positions, almost as if they knew what her dreams consisted of. She sighed deeply; how could she have let things come this far? Not only had Kingsley invaded the sanctuary of her slumber, but now he was a permanent fixture of her waking hours. She'd began to wonder what he was doing on an evening, what clothes he might be wearing, what he would have for dinner, and more importantly, if anybody else was sharing dinner with him. Her stomach agitated at the thought, and realisation washed over her; she had fallen for Kingsley Shacklebolt.

~ooOoo~

"Morning."

At the sound of the deep, mellifluous tone that had spoken, Hermione jumped and turned, though she knew who it was without doing so.

"Morning," she said, trying to keep her tone neutral and to stop herself from trembling. This was crazy; a couple of dreams had turned her into a bumbling idiot.

"Just thought I'd let you know, there's a seminar this afternoon that may be relevant," said Kingsley. "Arthur Weasley's delivering it, it's about Muggle objects being bewitched. There's been a few reports of these and I'd only need three guesses as to who might be behind it."

"Likewise," said Hermione; it bore all the hallmarks of an ex-Death Eater. "What time? I've got a meeting with Minerva to speak about student record confidentiality at one."

"He's starting at three, so you should have plenty of time," he said. He surveyed Hermione closely. "Are you okay? You look tired."

"Oh, I'm fine," she said, quickly; what could she say? 'Not really, I've been having erotic dreams about you and I've had about four hours sleep in the last week.' Maybe not.

He smiled at her and Hermione felt her stomach writhe pleasantly, allowing herself the indulgence of gazing into his deep, mesmerising eyes. "You're not working too hard, are you?"

"I'm not overdoing it," said Hermione. "I'm fine, honestly."

Kingsley raised his hand and placed it on Hermione's arm reassuringly; Hermione cursed herself at the swell of desire that his touch evoked, and bit her lip.

"Just make sure you don't," he said, with a grin. "You're too indispensible for that." He consulted his pocket watch. "Don't forget the seminar. We're in the training room on Level Two."

He left Hermione's office, and she groaned softly, pushing her fingers through her unruly curls. She felt trapped; she recalled a Muggle expression of her uncle's; 'stuck between a rock and a hard place'. It was very appropriate.

She couldn't even talk to anyone about it. Ginny would find it hilarious and would wind Hermione up about it, as she had proven that night at the Weasleys'. Harry was too close to Kingsley to confide in, and in any case, Harry was a man. He wouldn't understand. And Ron...well. That was a non-starter, really. _Talk__about__rubbing__his__nose__in__it_, she thought to herself. No, what she needed was somebody to be non-judgmental, impartial and who took things at face value. Somebody who just listened and offered their own opinion. Crookshanks was a good listener, but Hermione needed somebody to suggest to her what on earth was going on in her own head.

Especially seeing as she had no idea herself.

~ooOoo~

The castle loomed up before Hermione; she felt a pang of longing as her eyes feasted upon the sight of her old school. It looked identical to how she remembered it; clearly, an excellent job had been done on the restoration.

As she peered through the railings of the gates, she could see the outline of somebody in black robes, complete with pointed hat, striding towards her. Her heart leapt as she recognised the figure as Professor McGonagall; she still held herself with authority, despite the stresses of the war and time passing since Hermione had seen her.

Professor McGonagall smiled as she stopped in front of Hermione; with a wave of her wand, the gates opened noiselessly.

"Miss Granger." There was a note of pride in her voice; Hermione knew that Professor McGonagall always had a soft spot for her Gryffindors, despite being the Headmistress and therefore impartial.

"It's wonderful to see you, Professor," said Hermione, with a smile.

Minerva smiled wryly. "You can address me as 'Minerva', you know. You are no longer a student of Hogwarts, so you can assume that right."

Hermione laughed. "It feels strange, that's all. As does returning here."

Minerva nodded. "I can imagine. How are things going at the Ministry? I hear Kingsley headhunted you personally?"

"Oh...well, it was a departmental swap, really," said Hermione. "He'd made me redundant the day before and then offered me the job in Magical Law Enforcement."

Minerva nodded her approval. "Kingsley was an excellent choice for Minister. He's a perfect gentleman."

_Not__in__my__dreams__he__isn__'__t_, thought Hermione wryly, but she smiled.

"He's been very helpful," she said. "Which is why he's sent me; he wants me to speak with you about the Blood Status regulations."

"Not a moment too soon," she agreed. "Hogwarts will never hold store by Blood Status again, I can assure you. Shall we discuss this in my office?"

Hermione nodded and followed Minerva to her office. She smiled as excited first years jostled past her, rushing to get to their lessons, whereas older students nudged each other and whispered in hushed voices as they passed her; few people were unaware of Hermione's role in the war and her position as best friend of The Boy Who Lived. It sometimes irritated her to be considered a celebrity, but she reminded herself that Harry had it much worse.

"It all looks like it used to," said Hermione, as her gaze took in her surroundings; she found it hard to believe that this was the same building.

Minerva sighed and stopped, gazing out of a nearby window. "The restoration was not a problem. It proved a valuable Charms lesson for the OWL students, but...it just doesn't feel the same." She paused. "Perhaps I'm being silly."

"No...no, you're not," said Hermione. "It doesn't feel the same as it did." She glanced up to the ceilings; they were pristine, without fault or flaw. "The biggest scars are often the ones we cannot see."

Minerva nodded. "It has never felt the same since..."

Hermione did not need Minerva to complete the sentence; the loss of Dumbledore had hit everyone hard. She wondered how the start of term feast was opened in his absence, and if the password to his office was still the name of a sweet snack.

She reached out a hand to Minerva, and touched her arm reassuringly, feeling that it was the right thing to do. Minerva took a deep, steadying breath, and smiled at Hermione.

"Thank you, my dear," she said, her voice trembling slightly. "I do miss his presence. His portrait is still in the office, of course, but he does spend an inordinate amount of time asleep."

Hermione giggled, imagining a Dumbledore with a long nightshirt and cap, snoozing.

"It may be true that Hogwarts has lost a wonderful Headmaster," said Hermione, "but it has gained an equally wonderful Headmistress."

Minerva smiled gratefully at Hermione. "I knew I should have offered you a job here. One needs these little pick-me-ups every so often. Toothflossing Stringmints," she said to a stone gargoyle, and Hermione realised that they were outside the Headteacher's office. She smiled wryly at the password; she guessed that Minerva wanted to keep Dumbledore's tradition going, but in a sensible way.

"Now," said Minerva, as they entered her office, "tea or coffee?"

"Tea would be wonderful," said Hermione, glancing around what she recognised as Dumbledore's office, although of course, it was rightly Minerva's as the Headteacher of Hogwarts. Not much had changed; Dumbledore's Pensieve shimmered from the opposite side of the room, and the old portraits of past Headteachers were still there. The one above Minerva's desk, however, was empty; Hermione knew this to be Dumbledore's.

"Have there been many advances in the Blood Status legislation?" asked Minerva, as she set a cup of tea in front of Hermione.

"The Wizengamot passed some recommendations I'd made regarding employers and Blood Status records," said Hermione. "It was difficult securing the loopholes."

"Well, you'll be pleased to know that we have also made changes in line with this," said Minerva. "I, as Headmistress, will have sole knowledge of the Blood Status of our students. I'm sure you can appreciate that it is not as simple as having complete anonymity of Blood Status; witches and wizards of Muggle parentage need to have certain things explained to them, such as what to expect, what will happen on arriving at Kings Cross, and I shall be the one in charge of all correspondence." She gestured towards the Pensieve. "My memories of the students' status will be decanted into the Pensieve and protected by the Fidelius Charm. I intend to ask Kingsley if he will be joint Secret Keeper with me. That way, the students' Blood Status is protected. Not that they should be ashamed of anything. They are, of course, free to disclose however much they wish about their own Blood Status."

Hermione nodded; she recognised similarities between herself and Minerva, inasmuch as that they were both thorough in the way they addressed things, and methodical. "That sounds great. I'll run it past Kingsley and see what he thinks. I can't see there being a problem." She stood up. "I'd better be getting back to the office; I'll need to type these recommendations up."

"I'll walk you to the gates," offered Minerva, getting up. "I rather foolishly allowed the seventh years sole charge of restoring the position of the staircases; they've never been the same."

Hermione giggled. "It could have been worse. It could have been Fred and George..." She broke off and bit her lip, realising what she'd said. Minerva smiled sadly.

"Ironic, isn't it?" she said. "After all those years of them causing havoc, I'd give anything for them both to be doing it." She paused. "How are the Weasleys?"

"It's hard to say," said Hermione. "They all bear it well. Molly sometimes gets a little tearful, but they put a brave face on."

"Such a sad loss," said Minerva, with a sigh. "So many of the students have suffered great losses. We can only hope nothing like this ever happens again."

They made their way along a corridor, where the light streamed through the windows. As Hermione squinted in the bright light, she could see a figure standing at one of the windows, gazing at something. Upon moving closer, she recognised the long, blonde hair and the radish earrings, and smiled. She hadn't seen Luna Lovegood since the end of the war.

Luna turned to them and smiled vacantly. "Professor. Hermione. It's wonderful to see you."

"Likewise," said Hermione; she respected Luna immensely for the role she had played at Malfoy Manor.

"Luna, my dear, whatever are you doing?" asked Minerva, placing her hand on the girl's shoulder.

"I've a free lesson, so I thought I'd watch the Thestrals. They're teaching their young how to fly." She pointed towards an expanse of grass near the Forest, where a tiny skeletal-like horse flapped its wings with the aim of becoming airborne.

Hermione looked at Luna; she'd never met anybody like her before. Logic was the Ravenclaw trademark, but somehow Luna managed to counter it with a completely open mind. Non-judgemental, impartial and took things at face value.

And then she realised that what she had been looking for, was right in front of her.

"Luna," said Hermione slowly, "I don't suppose you're busy, are you?"

Luna smiled serenely. "Something's troubling you and you want to talk to somebody who won't laugh."

"I...well, yes..." stammered Hermione, in amazement. "How did you know?"

"It's the negative energy coming from you," she said, knowingly. "I can feel it." She glanced at her watch. "It's lunchtime anyway. We'll go for a walk."

"I'll leave you ladies to it," said Minerva. She addressed Hermione with a smile. "Don't leave it so long next time."

"I won't, I promise," said Hermione, returning her smile.

"So," said Luna, as Minerva walked away, "what's bothering you?"

Hermione bit her lip. "I keep having these..." she swallowed, "dreams."

Luna looked mildly interested. "About what?"

"Well..." Hermione blushed. "About who would be more appropriate."

"Ah." Luna smiled knowingly. "Recurring dreams about a person are often a manifestation of one's deepest desires."

"I was worried you'd say that," said Hermione, with a sigh.

Luna glanced at Hermione thoughtfully. "So you like him?"

"Well," began Hermione, "I didn't think so, but now these dreams have started, I...well, I think I do."

"You're a grown woman," said Luna, sounding more like one's grandmother. "Although, by the look in your eyes," she added, "it isn't quite as simple as that, is it?"

Hermione bit her lip, wondering whether to admit the focus of her desire to Luna.

"No," she said, with a heavy sigh. "For one thing, he's older than me. A lot older."

Luna said nothing; merely surveyed Hermione out of the corner of her eye.

"And he's in a position of authority. It wouldn't be appropriate."

"I'm sure Kingsley wouldn't see it as such," said Luna, matter-of-factly. Hermione spluttered, feeling herself blush bright red.

"How on earth-" she gasped, "did you know it was him?"

Luna shrugged. "He's older than you and in a position of authority to you. And attractive."

Hermione giggled. "I didn't say he was necessarily attractive."

"You wouldn't be having the dreams if he wasn't."

"True." Hermione got up and crossed to the window. "How do I deal with it? Other than dosing myself silly on Dreamless Sleep."

"You should be careful with Dreamless Sleep," said Luna, seriously. "It can leave you more susceptible to attacks from Wrackspurts."

"Is there anything that doesn't make you more susceptible to Wrackspurts?" said Hermione, disbelievingly.

"Not much," said Luna, "keeping an open mind keeps them out, though."

Hermione nodded slowly, humouring Luna; one had to sift through the conversation to pick out the useful parts.

"So what do I do, Luna?" she said, turning back to face the girl. "I can't keep going on like this. I can't sleep, go to work, and he gets suspicious, I swear, because I can't think of anything but him when I'm there," she finished, desperately.

Luna smiled dreamily. "The only way to get rid of temptation is to yield to it."

Hermione was momentarily stunned at Luna's knowledge of Muggle literature. "You know of Oscar Wilde?"

"My mother had a lot of his plays," she said. "Not long after she died, I looked through her book collection. He was a very witty gentleman."

Hermione could quite see how a Ravenclaw would appreciate Oscar Wilde's humour, and nodded.

"This is all well and good, Luna, but I can't just throw myself upon the Minister for Magic," said Hermione, in exasperation. "He'd probably laugh at me, then sack me for gross misconduct and impertinence."

"Nobody's saying you have to throw yourself at him," said Luna, "just make him aware that you're there. Make a play for him."

"I couldn't possibly," gasped Hermione, scandalised. "What if it all went wrong and he's not interested? We still have to work together."

"Well, it's the only way you'll stop these dreams," said Luna. "Think of Oscar Wilde."

~ooOoo~

Hermione looked at her reflection, and like Luna had directed her to do, thought of Oscar Wilde. She wasn't going to yield to temptation straight away; she would be the temptation, and Kingsley would yield to her. A smile curved her lips; red, in stark contrast to her pale skin. She had opted for a demure, yet well-fitting blouse, and a black pencil skirt with fishtail styling at the back, instead of the plain black robes she usually wore. No, she wouldn't be too obvious, because she knew that really, men didn't like that. She didn't think Kingsley would appreciate that, either. She paused for a moment, wondering in fact, what Kingsley did like. She'd never thought about what kind of man he was, or what he was like in a relationship. She couldn't imagine him being the shy type; but didn't like to think of him being a ladies' man, having his way with any woman he wanted.

Before she could change her mind or her outfit, she grabbed her handbag and turned on the spot, her hair streaming behind her as she Apparated to the Ministry.

~ooOoo~

Hermione's new look was having the desired effect.

However, it was not having the desired effect on the desired person. Not that he wasn't bothered; she just hadn't seen him so far. Unfortunately, she was now becoming the focus of many wizards' attention; some openly leered and others gaped before smacking straight into a wall and scurrying away, red-faced. Did she really look that different?

She strode down the corridor in search of Sturgis; she needed to drop off the notes that she'd made when she'd interviewed Lucretia Danvers. She'd typed them up from the incoherent scrawl that she'd made on the day of the interview.

As she rounded the corner, she felt her breath catch in her throat as her gaze locked upon Kingsley, in conversation with Dawlish. The sound of her heels on the tiles made Kingsley glance round to see who was there, and Hermione felt a thrill of delight surge though her as Kingsley's gaze rested on her for longer than was natural. He gave her the smallest of smiles, and she bit her lip, returning the smile as coyly as she knew how, returning her gaze to the floor.

"Miss Granger," he murmured, inclining his head as she strode past.

"Minister," she said, grinning to herself; she could only think of Oscar Wilde, and hoped that Luna's advice wouldn't be too far off the mark.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Sorry for the delay in posting, my faithful readers; I am now on holiday from work and so should be able to post more frequently! In response to Frecks, Kingsley's POV will be coming soon! Please keep your reviews coming; I appreciate every one of them.**

**Chapter 8**

Hermione jumped as she felt something poke into her ear, emitting a sound she'd last heard at a Muggle birthday party. "What the-"

Harry was waving a party whistle in front of her, grinning. "Guess whose office I managed to cadge this from."

Hermione allowed herself to smile. "I'm surprised Podmore let you in."

"Ha, ha," said Harry, sitting down. "Arthur's got loads, reckons they're carrying a Disillusionment Charm. I think he likes them too much. I caught him trying to put it in Hestia's ear."

"We are still talking party whistles here?"

Harry grinned. "Don't tell Molly, that's all I'm saying. Anyway," he continued, "they're kind of relevant. You know it's Bill's birthday tomorrow?"

Hermione rolled her eyes at Harry. "As if you even have to ask. I sent him a card yesterday. Why?"

"Well, Fleur's decided that we should go out and celebrate," he said. "You know what Bill's like, didn't want to make a fuss, but, well, Fleur can be rather persuasive..." He gazed distantly into the fireplace. Hermione sighed and prodded him. "Oh...where was I?"

"Having inappropriate thoughts about your future sister-in-law?" suggested Hermione, disapprovingly.

Harry grinned sheepishly. "Doesn't sound so good when you say it like that. Anyway, she's suggested drinks down Diagon Alley. Fancy it?"

"Why not?" she said, casually. "Who else is going?"

"Oh...the usual," said Harry. "Charlie's coming home from Romania, George, Lee Jordan, some others from Gringotts."

"Sounds good."

"Ron's going to be there..."

"You nearly had a sale there."

Harry sighed. "Come on, Hermione. There'll be loads of people there, it's not like you have to spend the evening alone with him."

Hermione groaned. "He'll make a beeline for me, you know that." She got to her feet and gazed out of her office window; her eyes feasted on a magnificent view of some snow-tipped mountains, dazzling in the wintry sunlight. Magical Maintenance had done themselves proud. "Am I so bad for not wanting him? Not like that, anyway."

"He's really fond of you," said Harry, softly. "I guess he thought you'd make a good couple."

"Didn't everyone?" said Hermione, bitterly. "Look, I can't. I just can't see it working with him."

"The kiss in the Chamber..."

"Was fuelled by the adrenalin of destroying a seventh of You-Know-Who's soul. Who wouldn't be euphoric after that?"

"It depends where the piece of soul was hidden," said Harry, somewhat sourly. He laughed and pushed his hair back from his head. "Can't believe I don't have the scar. Harry Junior will never believe me now."

Hermione laughed. "No. He'll just think his dad is full of tall tales, until he reads Hogwarts: An Updated History."

"Has it even been written?"

"No, we're just waiting for another tyrant to wage war on the wizarding world and then the book will warrant updating."

Harry mimicked touching Hermione with his finger, then made a hissing sound. "Ouch."

"Well, if you will insist on bringing Ron into the conversation..." she said, matter-of-factly. "Listen, I've got some reports to type, but I'll come out tomorrow. I'll meet you in Libera. Just you, mind," she warned, as Harry opened his mouth.

"I swear you've been learning Legilimency," he said, getting up.

"Harry, we spent the last seven years exclusively in each other's company," she said, with a smile. "I don't need Legilimency for that."

Harry grinned. "Libera at eight."

He left the room, and Hermione bit her lip. She now had to decide what to wear to avoid giving Ron any ideas. Perhaps a shapeless cardigan and jogging bottoms would do it.

~oOo~

Hermione glanced up as Amadeus swooped in through the open window, dropping a copy of the _Prophet_ onto the table.

"Thank you," she said absently, reaching into her pocket for some money for Amadeus, her eyes casually scanning the articles on the front of the _Prophet_. Her gaze moved up to the large bold print across the centre of the paper, and in the split second it took her to process the words, felt as though somebody had driven a fist into her stomach. A memory came to her of when she'd been at the park as a child, and as she had jumped from a see-saw, she had slipped and fell on her stomach across the seat, and she'd been winded; the pain was analogous.

_Kingsley not so 'Singly'- the Minister's Mystery Woman Revealed!_

She could feel a horrible ache deep inside her, the kind of ache that was synonymous of loss, the kind of ache that could have elicited a cry of desperate misery from her, and she knew what girls meant, now, when they said 'their heart ached'. Hell, did she know.

She forced herself to read the smaller text beneath, and found, to her annoyance, that the writing swam beneath her eyes. Blinking furiously, she traced her finger along the first line of text.

_The _Daily Prophet_ can exclusively reveal the identity of the Minister for Magic's partner! Speculation has been rife for weeks as to whether Kingsley Shacklebolt does indeed have a 'significant other' but thanks to our intrepid reporters and some excellent eyewitnesses, we can indeed confirm that Kingsley is in a relationship with none other than Clarissa Bonaccord, whose grandfather is Pierre Bonaccord, First Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards. The Minister and Ms Bonaccord were spotted together over lunch, sharing a laugh and indeed, looking very happy. When the Minister was asked to confirm if he was indeed in a relationship with Ms Bonaccord, he smiled knowingly and declined to comment. This may well be a disappointment for Kingsley's adoring female admirers, but we at the _Prophet_ are glad that he has found happiness._

Silence deafened Hermione as she allowed the paper to drop onto the table; she could feel her heart beating a furious tattoo against her ribcage, could feel her breaths shortening, and clutched onto the edge of the table, trying to steady her breathing, though she trembled with...what? Rage? Anguish? Hurt? Betrayal?

She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. It couldn't be rage. She wasn't angry at him. Anguish...it could only be anguish if she had lost something. She'd never had him to begin with. Hurt? Yes...but betrayal? He hadn't led her on, hadn't suggested that she and him would ever be anything but work colleagues. So what was it, that made her feel cold, as though somebody had blown out the flame of her soul? It was loss, loss of what she thought she had, could have had, but the sensible, reasoning side of Hermione had to concede that really, she was being silly. In order to lose, one had to have it to begin with. And she never had.

Amadeus hooted softly and Hermione jumped. She laughed and placed some coins in the leather purse attached to his leg, and stroked his soft feathers.

"Sorry, Amadeus," she said, "forgive a girl for being pathetic."

Amadeus rubbed his beak affectionately against Hermione's fingers, and flew outside. With a heavy sigh, Hermione picked up the newspaper again. A picture below the article showed Kingsley laughing with a tall, blonde haired woman, and Hermione had to concede, grudgingly, that she was attractive.

~oOo~

That lunchtime saw Hermione sitting in Hyde Park; the autumnal rays of sunshine caressed her with warm fingers, and she breathed deeply. Things seemed so much better when the sun was shining; and Ministry sunlight, courtesy of Magical Maintenance, just didn't cut it.

She'd not seen Kingsley that morning; she'd enquired as to his whereabouts, and his P.A had given her a glance that knew all and told nothing, before informing her crisply, that he was liaising with international affairs. Hermione hadn't been able to ascertain if the comment had been legitimate or merely tongue-in-cheek as a result of the article in the _Prophet_.

She stared out to the distance, her gaze fixated but not seeing. How could she have let herself fall this far? She had no claim to him, and yet she was behaving as though Kingsley had betrayed her.

_He took you for dinner_, she reminded herself. _He flirted with you, stopped you falling when you Apparated and held you when you broke down in tears._

And yet, she knew that three out of those four things were just what friends did. Had she been reading too much in to his comments? But she'd seen the carnal glint in his eye as she'd walked past him in her new outfit. Could she have mistaken that?

She sighed softly. This hadn't been part of the plan.

~oOo~

Eight o'clock that evening saw Hermione sitting at the bar in Libera, sipping a cocktail of the Russian barman's invention. She had to concede that he was creative, and her thoughts wandered to exactly how creative he might be. Her gaze moved to his fingers as he deftly unscrewed a cocktail shaker, and wondered, rather wickedly, how his fingers would feel if they worked like that upon her.

She sighed. Who was she kidding? She'd done nothing but think of Kingsley all day. It was his fingers she wanted upon her, his lips caressing her skin, his body pressing against hers as he laid her down and made love to her...

"You could have got one in for me."

Hermione whirled round, rudely dragged out of her reverie, and smiled begrudgingly at Harry. "I didn't know what you'd want."

"Never mind. We have to meet the others anyway. I said we wouldn't be long."

Hermione raised her glass to her lips and drained it of liquid; she shuddered as it slipped down her throat like ice. "Let's go."

Harry looked amused. "Promise me you won't get legless."

"I'm promising nothing," she said firmly.

~oOo~

Hermione was glad of her lack of promise to Harry; she'd spent half the night trying to avoid Ron, and it had been awkward, as she'd surmised. The best way of tolerating his attention was to drink as much as possible; with every drink that passed her lips, she decided that she cared a little less. She'd even allowed him to playfully squeeze her arm.

"Did you see the _Prophet_ today?" asked Ron.

Hermione felt her stomach contract at the mention of the _Prophet_. She had a feeling that she knew what Ron was going to say.

"Yes, why?"

Ron grinned. "Looks like Kingsley's been busy." He elbowed Hermione conspiratorially. "Got himself a bit of skirt, hasn't he?"

Ron's words knifed through Hermione; it was almost as if saying it made it real. She took another gulp of her drink.

"Didn't think it would be long though," he said, casually. "I reckon he's a right ladies' man. Bet he's had loads of women."

"Mmm." Hermione got up; she needed to get away from Ron and this conversation. She felt hot; unclasping her hands, she noted that they were clammy, and she could feel perspiration beginning to prickle from her pores. "Back in a minute."

She turned and headed in the direction of the toilets, willing herself to stay calm, not to betray her emotions. Once in the sanctuary of the Ladies', she leaned back against the wall, savouring the feel of the cool tiles against her head, and breathed deeply, feeling her heart pounding against her ribcage. The mere mention of Kingsley's name was enough to work her up; at the memory of him, she could feel herself becoming aroused, could feel the heat pooling between her legs. She shook herself slightly; she needed to get a grip. Kingsley was seeing someone. If he'd wanted to be with her, he'd have asked her. He'd had plenty of opportunities.

She could feel tears prickling at the back of her eyes; she'd never wanted anybody this much. He was witty, intelligent, cultured, caring, successful...everything she'd imagined her partner to have. The horrible ache of longing that she'd banished crept back into her stomach, and she felt sick, knowing that Kingsley was probably in the arms of that blonde strumpet.

She took a deep breath and smoothed down her dress; this was doing nothing. She couldn't stay in here all night. Just as she was about to leave the toilets, the door opened, and she gasped as Ron stood before her, blushing slightly.

"'Mione," he said, relieved. "I was worried about you."

"Ron, these are the Ladies'," she said, in astonishment.

"Yeah, well..." He blushed a deeper shade of red. "You look really hot..."

Hermione fanned herself with her hand. "It is warm in here."

"No...I mean..." He paused, glancing into her eyes. "You look...hot. Amazing."

Hermione glanced back at Ron, his face hazy through an alcoholic mist. She wasn't so far gone as to abandon her reasoning; she was painfully aware of the dampness and heat between her legs, and that she was painfully single, and that she hadn't been laid in a painfully long time.

"Take me. Now." Her voice sounded oddly unattached to her, as though somebody was speaking for her.

"Wow. You're...you're sure?" Ron sounded uncertain.

She closed her eyes. "Please. I...I need..."

She felt his lips crush against hers clumsily, could taste the Firewhiskey on him, and responded lazily. His drunken hands were roaming her body, pushing her skirt roughly up around her waist, tugging at her underwear before he sank two fingers inside her. She groaned, despite herself; she turned her head away as he buried his lips into her neck.

"I've wanted you so long, 'Mione," he slurred, pulling his fingers out of her and gripping her thigh, almost painfully; she winced. "I'm so glad you..."

"Just..." She stopped, feeling her anguish rise in her throat, threatening to choke her. "Don't stop..."

With a low groan, he pushed into her, and Hermione stared at the polished tiles in front of her as he began to thrust into her, her eyes prickling as tears began to form. He wasn't hurting her; he was a good man, she reflected. She just didn't want...him. His movements were doing nothing for her and she longed for this to be Kingsley, pinning her to the wall with his muscular body, soothing her senses with that wonderful, soulful voice of his, murmuring her name into her ear as he drove her over the edge...

Ron's movements became more erratic, more fevered, and she knew that it would be over at last, and as a strangled cry escaped his throat as he shot himself inside her, a solitary tear rolled down Hermione's cheek as she finally succumbed to her anguish.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Thank you again for your reviews. I really appreciate them and it makes me keep writing (nudge, wink). Yes, I am that shameless.**

**Frecks: I can't PM you! Kingsley's POV has been put back slightly, but it will be coming eventually.**

**And with no further ado, let us return to our girl…she is in a hard place right now…**

**Chapter 9**

"For Pete's _sake_…"

Hermione ducked as a Ministry owl swooped over her head, depositing an envelope on her desk. She didn't even have to look at it to know who it was from. She picked it up, and ripped it open. Out fell a card, with Ron's scruffy scrawl across it.

_I can come around tonight and see you? We could talk about last night. You were amazing. R_

Hermione felt her body trembling with suppressed ire. In a fit of anger, she crumpled up the card and pelted it into the fireplace, where it flared in the flames, before pirouetting up the chimney. Why wouldn't he get the hint? He'd been sending her owls all morning, and now, five hours and twenty minutes after the first one, he was still persisting.

She pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed softly; part of her anger was at herself for getting into this situation. She shouldn't have done it, shouldn't have let him anywhere near her, but it had been easier just to let him have his way. She had needed it and he had been only too happy to give her it.

Part of her felt guilty; Ron didn't deserve this, really. He'd never hurt her (not intentionally, anyway) and had always been kind. She ought to see him and explain. She owed him that much.

~oOo~

"I'm glad you came."

Hermione stepped into the hallway of the Burrow, purposefully avoiding Ron's eyes. "It's fine. I guess we needed to talk."

"Yeah. Same." Ron sounded relieved. "We'll sit in the living room, if you like…more comfortable. Not that I'm trying to get you comfortable…well, I mean…" he stammered, awkwardly.

"Ron, it's fine," said Hermione, quietly. "I get what you mean."

He pushed a door open just off the hallway, and as Hermione passed him, she noted how awkward they were around each other. She felt a little sad; it shouldn't have been like this.

"So." He sat down on the sofa, and gestured for Hermione to sit next to him. He was looking hopefully at her, and it put Hermione in mind of a dog waiting for a treat, wagging its tail expectantly. It irritated her.

"Listen, Ron…" she began, but he took hold of her hand.

"Look, 'Mione," he said, and Hermione wrinkled her nose in distaste; she'd always hated that shortened form of her name. "It was fantastic last night. It made me realise how much I really want you. I reckon we could make a go of it."

Hermione sat, feeling her skin prickle as though she'd plunged into icy water. This was all wrong; she didn't want Ron, she'd only wanted him to satisfy her carnal desires, to dull the pain of Kingsley not wanting her. But how could she tell him that, when he was looking at her so hopefully?

"It's…it's not a good time right now, Ron, to be honest," she said, wearily. "What with this new job, my head's all over the place, and I just need some space."

Ron looked slightly hurt, and inwardly, Hermione groaned; she didn't need Ron's puppy-dog eyes gazing at her, or the prospect of massaging his ego. She suddenly felt angry; how dare he make her feel like this? Resolutely, she turned to face him fully.

"I'm sorry," she said, evenly, "that's a lie. Ron, we were friends in school, and it was great, but I just don't see you like that. It just feels…weird."

Ron's eyes widened. "Didn't sound so weird when you were moaning last night."

"Oh, Ron, get a grip," snapped Hermione, feeling herself inching closer to the edge of plummeting into a chasm of anger. "Anything up there makes a girl moan, why do you think George sells vibrating cucumbers in the 'Over Seventeen' section?"

"Oh…" Realisation dawned upon Ron's face. "I thought they were for massaging…"

"Well…they are, in a sense." She got up. "I'm sorry, Ron. I shouldn't have done what I did last night. I was drunk, I needed sex, you were there. End of."

She got up to leave, but Ron's voice halted her in her tracks.

"Who is he?"

Hermione froze. "Who?"

Ron stood up. "Well, obviously there's somebody, otherwise you'd want me."

Hermione sighed. "Ron, does nothing permeate your fat head? I'm not with anybody."

Ron laughed humourlessly. "Cut the bull. Is it someone at work?"

"Ron, it's really none of your business."

Ron smiled wryly. "So there is, then."

"Like I said, it's nothing to do with you." She straightened up, feeling herself trembling with anger and fright; how dare he do this to her? She turned to walk away, but Ron grabbed hold of her wrist. "Get off. Now."

"Go on, who is it?" he demanded; he still had a tight grip on her wrist. "Some smartarse from work? That prick, Podmore?"

"No! As if! And anyway, he's married."

"Like you'd let that stop you," he spat, venomously, and Hermione slapped him hard across the face with her free hand; Ron let go of her wrist as though burned, and stared at her.

"I mean it, Ron," she said, her voice trembling. "Stay out of my business. If you've any sense, you'll forget we ever had anything."

"Don't flatter yourself," he said, spitefully, "you weren't worth remembering."

"Consider that reciprocated," she retorted, and turning on the spot, she Apparated.

~oOo~

"Morning, Hermione."

Hermione glanced up to see Sturgis placing a folder upon her desk. "Hi. How are you?"

"Pretty good, got loads on, though," he said, as he checked his pocket watch. He glanced closely at her. "No offence, but you look worn out. Are you alright?"

"Oh…" She turned to a mirror on her wall and surveyed herself; the dark lilac of sleep deprivation was smudged under her eyes, and she had to concede that she was paler than usual. No wonder; between dreaming of Kingsley and worrying about how Ron was feeling, she'd had very little chance to surrender to slumber. "Yes, just got a bit on my mind, that's all."

A screech overhead made Hermione jump; an owl swooped past her, and a red envelope flopped onto the desk in front of her, and she groaned softly. She'd bet any money that she knew who the sender was.

Sturgis grinned. "Who've you been winding up?"

He didn't have to wonder long; Molly Weasley's shrill voice rent the air, and she flinched as the envelope danced in front of her eyes.

"I DON'T KNOW HOW YOU DARE…PLAYING WITH MY SON'S EMOTIONS LIKE SOME KIND OF TOY…WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE…YOU KNOW HOW HE FEELS ABOUT YOU AND YOU DO THIS TO HIM…WELL, YOU'RE NOT WELCOME ROUND HERE ANY MORE…DISGRACEFUL BEHAVIOUR. STURGIS SHOULD KNOW BETTER, AND SO SHOULD YOU, CARRYING ON WITH A MARRIED MAN…THE PAIR OF YOU SHOULD BE ASHAMED."

The envelope burst into flames, disintegrating into ash on Hermione's desk. She could do nothing but gape, feeling the flush in her cheeks as Sturgis glanced sideways at her, standing somewhat awkwardly.

"Erm…" he began, awkwardly.

Hermione groaned and allowed her head to flop onto her desk. "Sturgis, I'm so sorry…long story, but Ron's got it in his head that we're having some kind of relationship. Molly must have found out."

"Molly thinks…you and me?" Sturgis asked.

Hermione nodded. "You know what she's like for rumours. I'm really sorry, this must create all sorts of trouble for you…"

To her amazement, Sturgis laughed uproariously. "Are you kidding? That's the highlight of my day."

Hermione felt the corners of her mouth tugging into a reluctant smile, despite her embarrassment and anger at Mrs Weasley. "I'm glad one of us is pleased. Listen, I've had just about enough for one day. Tell Kingsley I'm going to do some work at home."

"Tell him yourself, he's in his office," said Sturgis. "You'll have to knock though, he's in a meeting."

"Will do," said Hermione, piling books into her deceptively small handbag. "Listen, Sturgis, I'm so sorry about all this Ron business…"

Sturgis waved his hand dismissively. "Don't worry about it. Like I say, makes the day a little more interesting." He grinned.

Hermione made her way out of the office and headed to Kingsley's office; she'd not seen him since she'd read the article in the _Prophet_. She'd been avoiding him purposefully; she couldn't stand to see him with the knowledge that his attention belonged to another.

She stopped outside his door and paused; she could hear Kingsley's distinctive deep, measured tones, and then, a shrill giggle; her heart froze into icy splinters. It was her, it had to be. Bloody blonde, beautiful Bonaccord. Part of her was telling her to knock; _go on, disrupt them at it_, a nasty voice hissed, but she didn't want to see it, didn't want it proven to her.

The choice was ripped from her as the door opened, to reveal Kingsley looking surprised. "Hermione?"

"Oh…" She was wordless now; she had planned to be eloquent and succinct, but at the sight of him, she couldn't think coherently. "I'm…just thought I'd let you know…I'm...working from home. Got a corking headache."

"You don't look too good," he said, softly. "Is everything okay?"

"Yes, absolutely fine," Hermione heard herself say, although the voice again sounded oddly unattached to her.

"Kingsley, I'm just going to get a glass of water."

The woman who had tormented Hermione's nightmares was standing at Kingsley's shoulder, and Hermione felt the anguish constricting her throat; she was stunningly attractive. No wonder Kingsley was with her.

"Okay," said Kingsley. "Have you met Clarissa, Hermione?"

Hermione shook her head frantically. "No. Hi. Nice to meet you. I'll see you later…tomorrow…I have to go…"

Cursing herself for her weakness, she fled.

~oOo~

She paused before knocking on the solid oak door, hoping to haul herself together. She needed to explain her quick exit earlier; hopefully he would understand. She rapped on the wood and was rewarded with his wonderful voice.

"Come."

She opened the door. "Kingsley?"

He looked up and smiled at her. "Hermione. Are you feeling better?"

"Oh…" She was momentarily thrown. "Yes, fine, thank you. I just came to apologise for leaving so quickly."

"Don't apologise," he said, easily, and got up. "I'm glad you came, anyway. I was hoping to have a word."

"Oh?" Hermione felt panic settling in her stomach; had she done something wrong?

He came around the front of his desk, and smiled at her; it was his calming, reassuring smile that made her feel inexplicably at ease. "I just wanted you to know, Clarissa and I…there's nothing going on."

"Oh…well, I'm glad…I mean, well, not that I'm glad you're not with anybody, but her…well, not that she's not the right woman for you…" Hermione could feel herself colouring, and Kingsley laughed, a deep, throaty chuckle.

"You don't have to pretend, you know," he murmured, gazing into her eyes.

"Pretend?"

"Mmm." He moved closer to her and rested his hands on her hips, and she felt a swell of desire in her stomach. "I know how you feel about me."

"Oh, Kingsley…" she breathed, gazing into his deep brown eyes, feeling her heart thudding against her chest. "I want you so much…if you only knew…"

"I do know," he whispered. "Show me…show me how much you want me…"

She reached up to him and allowed her lips to collide with his; his hands were gripping her waist and his desperation almost unravelled her then and there. He was as amazing as she'd imagined; his tongue was darting into her mouth teasingly and she was convinced that she'd have betrayed the entire secrets of the Order if she was allowed one mere kiss from Kingsley's lips.

He broke away from her, tugging at the buttons of his trousers, and turned her so she faced away from him, pushing her against his desk with his thighs. She collapsed over it, feeling the hard oak edge digging insistently into her hip bones, and the warmth from Kingsley's body behind her. With firm movements, her skirt was pushed around her waist, and she felt the coolness of the air against her naked backside.

"I can't hold on any longer," he groaned, and she felt something hard, hot, and pulsating slide between her legs, before his hand came to rest on her stomach, lifting her to him.

"Kingsley…" she gasped, and moaned hard as his length impaled her, stretching her to the point of discomfort; she relaxed and immediately cried out as it allowed him deeper, pushing against that spot that brought her crashing over the edge of euphoria. His growls of longing as he plunged relentlessly into her made her cry out helplessly, and her fingers curled into the edges of the desk as he took her harder. "Don't stop…please…"

He groaned and pulled her to him, and she could feel his hands on her backside, gripping tightly as he drove into her rhythmically, and she was arching shamelessly against him, wanting him to be deeper, harder, more intense.

"Oh, yes…" she screamed, as the ache grew more and she knew she couldn't hold on. "Yes, yes, yes…"

And the ache was fading, becoming less unbearable; Kingsley's desk was becoming less distinct, and his palms suddenly didn't feel as warm, or as firm. She awoke with a whimper, to find herself painfully alone in her bed, yet she still stared wildly around, as though Kingsley was going to slink from the shadows. _Not again._

With a sob of frustration, she buried her head in her pillow, tears seeping from her eyes and soaking in to the crisp fabric. It was pointless even pretending that the article hadn't hit her hard, because it had. How could she have allowed things to get this far? Thoughts of Kingsley with that blonde bit of..._skirt_ barged impolitely into her reverie and it felt like a hot knife, plunging into her stomach; she sobbed desperately, feeling as though she was being wrung out with every breath, so that anguish seared through every inch of her body. She wanted him so badly, and these dreams were pure torment...

She rolled over to her bedside cabinet and groped blindly for the bottle of Dreamless Sleep that had been resident for several weeks. She'd been sensible and followed the dosage, and yet, her dreams had still plagued her. Diluted, granted; but still there as a permanent feature in the viewing schedule of her midnight movies.

Madam Pomfrey's warnings reverberated around her ears as she surveyed the bottle label, shimmering through her tears: "highly addictive...no more than the recommended dose...not a permanent solution..."

She raised the bottle to her lips and tipped her head back; the cool, honey-like liquid flowed past her lips, over her tongue and coated the back of her throat; she coughed as her throat, tight with emotion, struggled to allow the liquid past, and forced herself to swallow more. Oh, to surrender to sweet oblivion!

The onset was quicker than Hermione had assumed; darkness seeped across her eyelids and she fell back into the cool puffiness of the pillow, her hand flopping to her side, fingers slackening and allowing the potion bottle to tumble to the floor, where it shattered into tiny shards, suspended in a pool of sticky purple liquid.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: Thank you to my faithful pilgrims! I'm so grateful for your reviews, they do make me happy. The plot has taken several twists since I began writing this story, but I'm generally glad with the direction.**

**Chapter 10**

"…just need to see to Ursula, change that dressing."

Hermione's eyes flickered open to be greeted by a pristine, white ceiling. She could smell a faint medicinal odour, and her pillow felt different. This wasn't where she'd fallen asleep last night.

"Good morning, Miss Granger," trilled a voice, and Hermione turned in the direction of it; the voice belonged to a bustling, efficient mediwitch, bearing a characteristic symbol of a crossed wand and bone on her uniform. What was she doing in St Mungo's?

She sat up quickly, and her surroundings swam before her; raising her hand to her head, she flopped back down again. She felt…drunk.

"Now, less of that, young lady," continued the mediwitch, as she took hold of Hermione's wrist to feel for her pulse rate. "You've had quite a turn, let me tell you."

"Why am I here?" she asked, glancing at the mediwitch. The mediwitch glanced around furtively, then yanked the curtain to around the bed.

"You…you appear to have…well, taken an overdose," whispered the mediwitch. "They found a bottle of Dreamless Sleep, smashed on the floor."

Realisation crashed over Hermione like a breaking wave; memories barged rudely into her mind of raising the bottle to her lips, the anguish of wanting Kingsley, the smash and tinkling of broken glass…

Kingsley. Work. She sat up and stared wildly around for a clock. "What time is it?"

"Twelve o'clock, dear. Nearly lunchtime. Are you hungry?"

Panic filled Hermione; she'd never missed a day of education or work, other than the time she'd spent in the hospital wing at Hogwarts. Kingsley wouldn't know where she was, he'd think she was irresponsible, not sending an owl to let him know…

"No," she said, and swung her legs to get out of bed. "I need to get back to work, I've been away for the morning."

The mediwitch laughed and pushed Hermione firmly back onto the bed. "You've missed more than a morning, my dear. You were brought in yesterday. You took quite a dose of that stuff, let me tell you. And there'll be no nonsense of you trying to get up. You rest up and have a few days to recover."

"Yesterday!" Hermione was aghast. "I need to go to work, explain why…"

The mediwitch shushed her. "It's fine. Kingsley knows you're here."

"What!"

"Oh, he came to visit you, yesterday," she said, airily, bustling around Hermione's bed and tucking her in.

Hermione felt her stomach writhe at the mention of his name. "He did? When?"

"About three o'clock," she said. "You were still under the influence, but he stayed a while. Looked like he was saying something to you. Not that I heard," she added, hurriedly.

She bustled off to see to another patient, but Hermione hadn't noticed; she was still thinking about Kingsley. He must care to come and see her. She hoped she hadn't looked too unkempt. She groped instinctively on the bedside cabinet for a mirror, then remembered that she wasn't at home. She'd have to go without.

_Are you a witch, or what?_

She sighed, shaking her head, and picked up her wand from the cabinet. She'd been in here too long; fancy forgetting the handy spell of _accio_. Summoning a mirror from the wall opposite, she surveyed herself critically. She looked rough; she grimaced at her appearance. Her hair was tousled and dishevelled, her face pale and eyes lined with dark circles. How could they have let Kingsley see her like this?

_It doesn't matter anyway_, a nasty voice hissed in her mind. _He's got gorgeous Clarissa to entertain his thoughts. You pale into insignificance beside her._

She pressed her lips together firmly and set the mirror down. That was quite enough of that for one morning, thank you very much. Her thoughts wandered to other things; she wondered if Molly Weasley had informed the rest of the family about her dalliance with Ron. She wasn't too worried, however; it would take more than a drunken fumble with Ron to destroy eight years of friendship with Harry, and Ginny knew what an arse Ron could be at times. Percy would be disgusted, of course, but then again, that was no great hardship; they'd never really got on. Charlie was too busy in Romania to worry about things happening at home. Bill might not be too impressed, and by association, Fleur, but perhaps pregnancy would have mellowed her. She could hope. Which left George; they'd been close, but she knew that George was closer to Ron after losing Fred. Arthur would probably not mention it; anything for a quiet life, but Molly would expect him to concur with the majority while in the Weasley home and he would probably blank her too. She groaned and rubbed her nose, as she often did when she was vexed. What a mess.

She glanced up as the door creaked open, and against her better will, her stomach leapt and her heart thudded against her chest.

Kingsley was striding towards her, in Muggle clothing; the same black suit he'd worn when she'd accompanied him here to interview Lucretia Danvers. He held a brown paper bag in his hand, and smiled at her as his gaze met hers.

"Hermione." He sounded relieved. "You're awake."

She nodded. She didn't know how much Kingsley knew about what had happened; but she didn't feel inclined to lie to him.

"I brought you something," he said, handing her the brown paper bag. "I thought you'd like it."

She blushed, and opened the bag. Inside was a small plant, with dark green leaves, and to her slight puzzlement, small, inky blue flowers. She'd never seen a plant with such dark colouring. Evidently, Kingsley was puzzled too; she could see a slight frown on his face.

"It had purple flowers when I bought it," he said, slowly. He reached his hand out to the plant, allowed his fingers to caress the petals gently. Hermione gasped as the petals twitched beneath his touch and changed colour, to a vibrant amethyst.

"It's a Metamorphosia," she said, in amazement. "It's like a Metamorphmagus, but it's a plant. They're really rare."

Kingsley smiled. "I have to say, I chose it because of the colour. That's my feminine side."

Hermione laughed weakly. She turned the plant around; no sooner had Kingsley let go of the petal, it turned back to its inky indigo colour. Perhaps it was linked to body temperature.

"Thank you," she said, setting the plant down on her bedside table. "It's lovely."

"My pleasure," he said, softly. He touched her fingers gently; she trembled and wished she had more of a hold of herself. "Listen…I just wanted to ask…if you're okay. I mean…in here…"

Hermione bit her lip, and allowed her eyes to meet Kingsley's. Seeing his deep brown, soulful eyes staring intently into hers made her want to grab hold of him and tell him how much she wanted him, how much it hurt when she thought of him with that woman.

"I've had trouble sleeping," she said, softly; it wasn't a complete lie. "I took too much Dreamless Sleep, and woke up in here."

Kingsley's hand covered hers, and his thumb stroked her wrist softly. She closed her eyes; his touch was bliss. "It's her, isn't it?"

"Who?"

"Bellatrix." He sighed. "The nightmares get better, but it takes time. Dreamless Sleep won't touch you for things like that."

Hermione took a deep, steadying breath. "It hurts." She touched her stomach. "It's like somebody's got a knife in my stomach, and they're twisting it slowly."

"Come here," he murmured softly, and she closed her eyes in ecstasy as he enveloped her into his arms, one hand stroking her back softly and his other hand tangling itself into her hair. She couldn't stop the tears from flowing and wished she was more in control of her emotions. "You should have told me."

"I thought the Dreamless Sleep would have solved it," she said, her voice muffled by his shoulder. "Anyway, you shouldn't have to deal with this."

Kingsley laughed softly and pulled back from Hermione, brushing a tear from her cheek; more tears sprang forth as the tenderness of his gesture overwhelmed her. "Maybe I want to deal with it."

She smiled weakly. "I'm not sure your partner would be entirely happy about that."

Kingsley looked puzzled. "Partner?"

"Clarissa." Seeing his blank look, she added "The article in the paper?"

Kingsley started laughing. "I guess I've got Rita Skeeter and her exaggerating quill to thank for that one. Clarissa is just an acquaintance I've met; she wanted to discuss some legislation. I'm definitely not seeing her."

Hermione felt waves of relief coursing through her body. He wasn't with that woman. She laughed, feeling a little silly; was she being too obvious?

"Anyway," said Kingsley, casually, "she's not my type. We'd never get along." He glanced at his watch. "I'd better go otherwise I'll be getting kicked out. When are they letting you out?"

"Oh…I'm not sure," said Hermione.

He smiled. "I'll come and see you tomorrow. If you'd like?"

"That would be nice," replied Hermione, striving for indifference, but her expression betraying her.

Kingsley turned to leave, and instinctively, Hermione called out after him.

"What is your type, then?"

He turned back to her with a wicked grin. "Intelligent, witty brunettes."

The door closed behind him, and Hermione exhaled softly, trying to slow her thumping heart. She turned to look at the plant he had brought her, and gasped as she touched the petals; as her fingertips caressed them, they had turned a bright shade of fuchsia.


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: Apologies for the delay in posting; I am studying at university and don't have much spare time to write fanfiction! Thank you again for your lovely reviews, and as promised, a little deviation away from our girl's POV later on.**

**Chapter 11**

"Oh. Hello."

Harry and Ginny were standing in front of Hermione, Ginny with a bouquet of flowers clutched in her hands, Harry wearing an awkward grin. Hermione forced a smile, hauling herself together with steely composure.

"We thought we'd come around and see you," said Harry. "We went to St Mungo's, but they said you'd been discharged."

"Yes. I couldn't stand another minute in there looking at white walls and ceilings." She gestured with her head. "Come in."

She padded into the living room, sensing the awkwardness between them; it saddened her somewhat to think that things had come to this. She couldn't really blame Ron; she'd slept with him and led him to believe that something could happen between them. But she hadn't for a moment thought that Ginny and Harry would hold it against her.

"I'm fresh out of shopping, so I can only offer you tea," she said, as she headed into the kitchen. "But I do have some Cauldron Cakes that Matilda made."

"I'll help you make the tea," said Ginny, tactfully. She gave Harry a push in the small of his back. "Go and sit down. Try and see if you can work the television."

"Ha, ha," said Harry, as Ginny grinned. "Remind me who grew up with Muggles again?"

"Yes, but you are a man, after all..." said Ginny, and dodged a playful slap from Harry. "Now, there's no need for that..."

Hermione smiled at the exchange between them; Harry and Ginny made an excellent couple, and when Harry showed signs of taking himself and life too seriously, Ginny could always be relied upon to give him a good bite of a reality sandwich. She busied herself with the cups as Ginny perched on the work surface, saying nothing, just watching.

"We were worried, you know."

Ginny's words stopped Hermione in her tracks momentarily; it was the first time the subject had been broached by anyone.

"Yes." Hermione didn't know what to say to that.

Ginny sighed. "Hermione, you're my best friend. Harry's best friend."

Hermione smiled wryly. "Not Ron's, then."

Ginny paused carefully. "He's hurt over what happened."

"And you think I'm not?" The anger which Hermione had been trying to suppress, struggling to subdue, was bubbling to the surface now and she was finding it hard to hold back. "Look, I had my reasons. I know I hurt him. But I've been hurting too. Why else d'you think I ended up in St Mungo's?"

Ginny gaped. "Then why the bloody hell didn't you tell anyone? Me?"

"And that would go down brilliantly, wouldn't it? 'Gin, I'm in utter turmoil here of wanting someone I can't have and I've just shagged your brother to try and get someone off my mind.' Hardly."

Ginny smiled slightly. "Kingsley."

Hermione raised her eyebrows. "That obvious, hey?"

"Only to me. I thought you had a thing for him." She glanced at Hermione, her eyes softening. "I guess I'm a bit hurt that you didn't feel you could confide in me. I wasn't convinced when you said you weren't interested in him."

"I know. And I am sorry. I should have known I can trust you. I..." She sighed. "I didn't want to say it, because then it makes it real, doesn't it? And I didn't think I had a chance with him..."

"And now?" Ginny's eyes were dancing, and Hermione couldn't help but laugh.

"No flies on you. He came to visit me in St Mungo's, brought me a plant."

"You'll be announcing the wedding any time soon," said Ginny, with a grin, and Hermione reached across to slap her.

"It's just little things. Taking me for dinner, little remarks...I daren't even believe that he'd be interested. Anyway," she said, "it's dangerous to want something too much."

"You can't keep going on like this," said Ginny, reasonably. "Why would it be so bad if you made a move?"

"I can't do that!" exclaimed Hermione, scandalised. "What if he didn't like me? We'd have to work together and it'd be awkward, all fumbling papers and averted gazes."

Ginny shrugged. "Only you know what will make you happy. You're both adults. What's to stop you?"

"See, it sounds really easy when you put it like that," said Hermione, with a sigh. "What would you suggest about Ron?"

Ginny paused before replying. "I'd leave it a bit. He's still licking his wounds. Male pride and all that."

"I guess I should have expected that. I shouldn't have done it. But then your mother had no right embarrassing me at the Ministry. Fair enough, come and yell at me privately, but not at work and certainly not dragging innocent people into it."

Ginny giggled. "Sturgis was actually quite flattered. And yeah, Mum was out of order. I did try to explain that to her, but she was having none of it."

Harry's voice floated into the kitchen from the living room. "Any chance of a drink?"

"Who threw you a nut?" called Ginny, and Hermione laughed, feeling a lot better than she had for a while.

Ginny and Harry had stayed for another couple of hours, and thankfully, Hermione reflected, the subject of Ron had not been mentioned further, probably at Ginny's insistence. It had been wonderful to spend time with two of her closest friends, just laughing about little things, a release from her tormented thoughts of Kingsley. Harry and Ginny had left on the promise that they should do this more often.

Feeling a lot lighter, Hermione retired to the bathroom for a long, hot soak, which, as she sank into the perfumed carpet of silky bubbles, she decided was definitely needed. The soft fragrance of peaches and jasmine was welcome to her nostrils, and she idly trailed her fingers through the water. It was hard not to think of Kingsley; it was the white elephant all over again. If she told herself not to think of him, he swam to the forefront of her thoughts, and if she allowed him in, it just made her ache for him even more. She recalled a book she'd once tried to read before she'd gone to Hogwarts; a Joseph Heller novel, Catch-22. She couldn't help but acknowledge its relevance to her situation.

~oOo~

The bath had served its purpose; it had eased the aches in her muscles and washed away the medicinal smell of St Mungo's. She only wished that it was as easy to soothe her mind, to cleanse it of thoughts of Kingsley. She did feel better having confided in Ginny, but she knew it wouldn't be as easy as that.

Crookshanks padded across to her and purred softly, rubbing his head affectionately against her legs. She smiled and reached down to rub behind his ears; she was thankful that she wouldn't be alone that night.

"What a mess, Crooks," she said, softly.

A faint pop interrupted her thoughts, a sound that she associated with Apparition, and instinctively glanced around to see what Ginny had left. It wasn't unusual for the redhead to have left her cloak, mirror, lipstick, even keys behind.

"What is it now, Gin?" she called, chuckling softly to herself as she padded down the hallway to open the door for her friend. "Honestly, you could have gone without your lipstick for the evening-"

Her voice caught in her throat as she opened the door, revealing Kingsley standing in front of her. He was still wearing his work attire, but with the top two buttons of his navy shirt unbuttoned and his travelling cloak slung casually over his shoulder. She could smell the characteristic fragrance he wore; musky, with undertones of something sweet, like citrus, but not cloying. It made her ache even more. He smiled at her and she nearly lost all control, her heart beating hard against her chest, so loud that she wondered if he could hear.

"I just wanted to check you were okay," he said, softly. "I don't want you to be on your own."

Hermione smiled wryly. "I'm not going to do anything silly, if that's what you're wondering. I don't have any Dreamless Sleep left, for one thing."

He stared at her intently. "You've been through more than most witches your age. It's understandable."

She glanced up at him, into his dark brown, mesmerising eyes, and wished she could confess all, explain exactly why she'd taken the Dreamless Sleep and that her body ached for his caress, and her soul craved his affection. But failure sent a frisson of fear through her; she could not stand for him to reject her, not when she was so dangerously close to the edge.

"I'll be fine." She forced a smile. "I'm going to get an early night. I've been spoilt with visitors today."

Kingsley looked uncertain. "Promise me you'll owl me if you need anything."

She nodded, feeling tears scratching at the back of her eyes and not trusting herself to speak, lest her voice betrayed her. "I will. Thank you."

Kingsley paused, then bent to Hermione and kissed her cheek softly, his breath ghosting her ear. Her breath caught in her throat and she felt delightfully dizzy, intoxicated with desire, breathing in the musky scent of him.

"I'll see you later," he said, huskily, and let himself out of the front door. Hermione exhaled softly, her heart thudding against her chest as she leaned against the wall. Part of her wished he hadn't kissed her; it only made her want him more and made her stomach ache. She blinked away tears, wondering when her life had become that much more complicated.

~oOo~

Kingsley sighed and leaned back in his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose in deep thought. He was trying to timetable hearings for the Wizengamot, but to no avail. His mind buzzed with a lack of concentration and he stood up. Maybe a break was required.

"Kingsley?"

A female voice, one that Kingsley recognised, came from behind him and he turned, to see Hermione Granger leaning casually against the doorframe. Her hair was twisted into a messy knot, tendrils tumbling around her delicate face, and her lips worked into a smile as she surveyed him. He wondered if she knew how hot she looked; he couldn't help the nip of attraction he felt upon looking at her.

"Hi," he said, shuffling papers unnecessarily. "You okay?"

"I'm fine," she said. "_You're_ not, though."

She walked towards him, and Kingsley's gaze moved to her hips, noting how they swayed with an air of confidence; a woman who was assured in her sexuality.

"How so?" he asked, and started as he felt her slender hands touch his shoulders; shoulders which, he noticed at her touch, were tough and unyielding. He'd definitely been working too hard.

"This," she purred, as her fingers began to knead and work upon his tense shoulders. He could not help but growl his approval as she worked her thumbs in circular motions, teasing out his tension. She laughed softly, a melodious sound, as he writhed underneath her hands. "You like that?"

"Mmm..." was all Kingsley could say; if he spoke, he'd betray what he was really thinking, and that would be dangerous...

"Poor you," she murmured, as her fingers splayed lower down his back, "are you tense all over?"

"If you only knew," he breathed, feeling himself harden with desire for her; he longed for her to continue her exploration of him. He could feel her fingers slowly trailing down his back, around his sides and to his thighs, and groaned softly as she began to massage small circles along the insides of his thighs. This was torture, and yet he didn't want her to stop, but the ache between his legs was painful, and he needed release...

And then she was in front of him; she straddled him, pushing her skirt up around her waist and wrapped her arms around his neck. Kingsley growled softly as she shifted her weight so that his arousal was pressing tantalisingly against her.

"Do you want me, Kingsley?" She whispered the words softly into his ear, her breath ghosting his skin, and he trembled, arching his head back.

"So badly..." he groaned, resting his hands on the small of her back, encouraging her closer to him. She smiled and bent to kiss him; with a moan of desperation, he tangled his fingers in her knot of hair and claimed her lips hungrily. She gasped against his lips and then surrendered to his force; Kingsley knew she was enjoying this, by the soft whimpers of delight that she was making. She was going to send him over the edge, and he didn't want to, not yet...

He allowed his fingers to explore further up her thigh and noted with a thrill that she was wearing stockings; he'd always wondered what she wore beneath that damn tight skirt that she insisted on parading her perfect backside in. As he moved higher, his fingers caressed lace; warm, moist lace, and he was rewarded with a cry of desperation as his fingers moved across the roughened material.

"You're soaking wet," he growled, pushing her flimsy underwear aside and burying two fingers inside her; a shriek of delight was torn from her lips and she buried her face in Kingsley's shoulder, her nails gripping him tightly as he worked inside her.

"Scream all you want," he breathed, as he slid his fingers in and out of her, so sticky, and hot, and wet...he felt her body begin to tremble, felt her nails scrape painfully against him, and heard a long, desperate cry escape her as he released her into euphoric oblivion. She collapsed against his body, gasping for breath as the waves of ecstasy ebbed away. He tangled his fingers gently in her hair and kissed her damp curls, trying to ignore the throbbing ache between his legs.

"Kingsley..."

"Mmm?"

"You're still aching..."

He allowed his hand to stray lower to the buttons of his trousers, and gripped his length through the material. "What will you do about it, witch?"

She tugged at the buckle of his belt and loosened it, then worked her way along the buttons, and Kingsley knew she was doing this so slowly on purpose. She eased him out of his underwear and he groaned as her fingers curled around him; tentatively at first and then tightening so that he could feel the blood pulsating through.

"Oh...please..." he groaned, as she bent her head to him, and he felt her lips close around his length. He tangled his fingers in her hair and encouraged her to take him deeper; he could feel the back of her throat and it was nearly too much. She was making soft noises of longing as she slid her tongue around him, and he groaned thickly as he felt the ache intensify and felt himself twitch in her mouth.

"Hermione...don't stop..." he moaned, arching his back...he was so damn close and she was too good...

He sat up, gazing around wildly, his heart beating a furious tattoo against his ribcage, and it took him a minute to realise that he was sprawled in his own bed, rather than his office chair, and there was no Hermione Granger between his legs.

He groaned softly and subconsciously squeezed his hardening length; it ached with need of release. The thought of her tongue working on him only served to increase his frustration; she was strictly off-limits as an employee. That and the fact that he was what, twice her age? _Get a grip, Shacklebolt_, he told himself.

He rolled over and pushed his face into the soft curves of his pillow, trying to get Hermione Granger out of his mind. One dream would have been forgiveable; she was attractive. He could have accepted it and moved on.

However, he had to concede that similar dreams, every night for the past fortnight, were not that easy to address, and he had a feeling that the only way that these dreams would stop, would be to surrender to temptation.


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: Well I must apologise for the huge delay in posting this. I am back at university and don't get time to write much, but the arrival of holidays means I can bring you some lemony goodness for the festive season. Read, review and enjoy!**

**Chapter 12**

"Good to see you back, Hermione."

Hermione glanced up as Sturgis walked past her desk, cramming a stack of files onto the bookshelf. "Thanks. It's

good to get out of the house."

Sturgis smiled sympathetically and rubbed his stomach. "Lot of it going round. You look a bit pale, you sure you're okay to be in?"

_Oh, Sturgis, you have no idea,_ thought Hermione, as her stomach somersaulted in no relation to Sturgis' assumption. If a pining heart was an affliction, then she was most definitely struck down with it.

"I'm fine," she said, as confidently as she could manage.

"Knock knock..."

Hermione whirled around at the distinctive voice, and bit back an expletive as her knee contacted the hard wood of her desk. Kingsley was standing at her door, looking quizzically at Hermione as she rubbed her knee furiously. Why did he always have to catch her unaware?

"Kings, I've had a tip-off about that old antique shop in Hemel Hempstead," said Sturgis. "They reckon there's some cursed objects doing the rounds again, had a few reports from Smethwick up at the hospital."

Kingsley shook his head. "I can guess who's behind that. Have the Obliviators done their stuff?"

Sturgis nodded. "Right away. I've set Magical Law Enforcement on it, but I'll be following that up with my own investigations. I'll be back after lunch."

He left the room, and Hermione glanced up at Kingsley, forcing a smile whilst on the inside, her stomach writhed and she wanted to cry with longing.

"How are you?" he murmured, and his voice was softer than usual, unusually husky. The timbre made her tremble.

She breathed out softly and clenched her fists beneath the desk; _keep control, Hermione_, she repeated to herself.

"Better for being here," she said, softly.

"Brave girl," he whispered, and before she knew it she was on her feet, and Kingsley had held his arms out to her, and she had stumbled into his body, breathing in the sweet scent of him as she pressed her face into his chest. God, this was sweet surrender, and she could feel his hands roaming her back and the barely audible sound of his breathing against her hair. She moaned softly despite herself, and instantly felt his body stiffen, and she cursed herself in horror; she'd made that noise out loud!

But then, his body relaxed again, and this time he made a soft growl as she nestled closer against him. Her heart was beating furiously, blood cascading through her veins, for she knew where this was leading, and sweet Merlin, she wanted it so badly.

His lips brushed against her neck and she gasped, her breath dragging in her throat; his lips. On her skin. Working along softly, up to her jawline. He tipped her chin up so that their gazes locked, and she felt intoxicated with lust, seeing him through a haze of desire.

"Sweet Hermione," he breathed, and she let out a soft moan of desperation as his lips claimed hers in a deceptively tender kiss, his fingers tangling in the loose knot of curls at the nape of her neck. She sighed softly against his lips and responded with every inch of her being; she recalled a time where she'd awoken from a nightmare, her mouth dry and parched, and she had gulped down a glass of water so hungrily to quench her thirst; her longing for Kingsley was her thirst, and he was the glass of water that she wanted to consume to satisfy her need. She moaned helplessly into his mouth as he pulled her body tight against him, his hands on her backside.

"I want you..." he breathed, breaking the kiss and whispering the words against her lips. Hermione felt a throbbing, searing desire deep inside her at his words; he wanted her. Kingsley. The one who she'd been lusting after for what seemed like an eternity. The realisation made her lightheaded with euphoria.

And then his lips claimed hers once more, this time with urgency and desperation, his tongue sliding along hers and she whimpered at the sheer intensity of him; he growled softly and lifted her thigh around his waist, and she gasped as she felt the proof of his desire for her rubbing insistently between her legs.

"Not here," he breathed, breaking the kiss and staring intently into Hermione's eyes. "I want to take you properly, beautiful girl."

The realisation made her surroundings swim and her stomach writhe pleasantly. _Take her...properly...beautiful..._

Kingsley pulled her tightly to him. "Hold on to me."

Hermione clung to him; she had no intention of letting him go. He spun on the spot, and she gasped as what felt like a tight corset clamped around her ribcage, and she was hurtling through time and space, gasping for breath, before her feet slammed into a wooden floor, but Kingsley's hands were around her waist, stopping her from falling.

"My bedroom," he said, huskily, gesturing around the large room. Hermione's gaze swept the room; a large bed with an ornate wrought iron headboard was the main focal point, with an abstract canvas on the wall above it. White walls reflected the natural light inwards onto navy cotton bedclothes; she suppressed a shiver of longing at the thought of being splayed out on those sheets, with Kingsley's body pinning her down...

"I love it," she breathed; the devil sitting on her shoulder prodded her wickedly. _Go on...don't be a shrinking violet. Take charge..._

She stepped closer to him, pressing her palms against his warm, heaving chest, trailing her fingers down until she reached the waistband of his trousers. She heard his breath hitch as she slid her fingers beneath, savouring the feel of his skin as her fingers splayed lower, so dangerously close to...

"Stop..." His voice was a hoarse whisper; she glanced up to see him licking his lips, eyeing her with carnal desire. "You'll send me over the edge...and I want to make this last..."

_Oh_. Hermione felt as though her blood was on fire, like molten lava coursing through her veins. Did he know what his words did to her?

Effortlessly, he swept her into his arms, and she made a startled squeak as her feet were swept from beneath her. He chuckled softly as he laid her gently on the bed.

"I love the noises you make," he murmured, kicking off his shoes, and climbing on to the bed beside Hermione. "I wish you'd make more..."

"Keep doing what you did earlier, and I won't disappoint," she breathed, reaching up to his mouth and tracing her finger along his full lower lip.

"Oh, Hermione," he whispered, "you are such a tease...I don't think you know how much of an effect you have on me..." He took hold of her hand and rested it between his legs; she could feel him, rock hard, and growing harder still as her fingers curled around him.

"Touche," she said, breathlessly.

He rolled over so that he was kneeling over her right thigh, his right knee parting her legs as best they could in her skirt. He tugged at the skirt ruefully.

"As fit as you look in this skirt, it needs to come off," he murmured. "Stand up..."

He got off the bed, allowing her to stand, and she unzipped the skirt at the back, being thankful for her decision to wear one of her prettier sets of lingerie that day as she allowed the garment to slip to her ankles. Her skin prickled with delight as Kingsley let out a soft moan of longing at the sight of her.

She started as she felt his hands cup her backside, bare save for the insubstantial scrap of black lace that were her knickers, and arched her back as his lips pressed against her neck, moving down her spine through the silk of her blouse, lower and lower until he reached the left cheek of her backside, then down her thigh, to her calf, and then her surprisingly sensitive ankle...she could not help but tremble at the unusual sensation.

"Perfect," he murmured, against her skin, running his hand up her leg, his fingers walking delicately up the inside of her thigh, and she swallowed hard, longing for his fingers to continue their exploration of her.

"You like that?" he murmured, pausing and glancing up at Hermione. She bit her lip, wishing that his gaze wasn't so intense.

"Yes," she breathed, fighting to keep her voice from trembling, and failed as his fingers inched beneath the lace of her knickers, letting out a soft cry. Kingsley stood and moved behind her, placing his hand on her lower abdomen and pulling her backside against his obvious arousal, his fingers moving slowly in small circles on her. She groaned deeply and threw her head back against Kingsley's chest.

His lips brushed against her ear and the sensation of his warm breath against her skin made her shiver; he continued to tease her with his fingers, skirting around her core, sometimes brushing it with the faintest of caresses that sent pure electric jolting through her and made her whimper. His fingers brushed that spot for a little longer than before and she tensed in anticipation of sweet release, but then his touch had retreated and she cried out helplessly in frustration.

"Kingsley, please..." she sobbed, in desperation.

"More?" he purred, in his sinfully husky voice. "Like...this?" His fingers caressed her soaking flesh and she cried out.

"Yes," she gasped, writhing helplessly against his fingers to direct him to where she wanted him. "Please...don't stop..."

"I have no intention of stopping," he whispered, and then his fingers had slid inside her, and this was heaven, pure heaven, and Hermione could not suppress the deep, guttural moan that escaped her lips as his fingers worked on her. All the nights of aching desperation were pent up inside her and she didn't think she could hold on...she could feel her muscles clamping tightly around Kingsley's fingers and a sweet ache intensifying somewhere at her core.

"Come for me, sweet," he breathed, as his thumb caressed her, his fingers sliding in and out of her with ease, and his words were her undoing; everything broke and she was crying out in ecstasy as the ache burst into waves of pleasure, crashing down on her and retreating into a slow ebb.

Gently, he pulled his fingers out of her, and she gasped as he brushed her lower lip gently with them, sticky from her.

"Taste it," he breathed, sliding a finger between her lips. She moaned softly and licked his fingers; she couldn't describe the taste, but it was erotic and almost sinful. He removed his fingers from her mouth and turned her to face him, before sliding them into his own mouth and sucking them slowly, deliberately, his eyelids fluttering closed as he savoured the taste of her. Hermione had never seen anything so erotic, and it aroused her more than she dared to admit.

"Is that dessert?" she murmured, playfully.

Kingsley chuckled darkly. "That was merely an amuse bouche. In every sense of the word." He kissed her chastely, before placing his hands on her shoulders and encouraging her to sit on the edge of the bed. He dropped to his knees in front of her, kissing the inside of her thighs, and she flopped back onto the bed, trying to stifle a moan. She was writhing uncontrollably now, under his touch, and why was it never enough, when he'd released her, when he was touching her now?

And then he had retreated; she whimpered in disappointment and opened her eyes, to see him unbuttoning his shirt, and...oh, Merlin...that look he was giving her...that look that a lion fixes its prey with..._I'm going to eat you...devour you..._

"Lay back," he whispered, as he shrugged his shirt to the floor and began to unbuckle his belt. She was entranced by his fingers; fingers that had been inside her, fingers that had made her cry out helplessly...

"You are perfect," he murmured, kneeling over her and brushing an errant wisp of her hair away from her cheek.

"You're not so bad yourself," she said, playfully.

Kingsley laughed softly. "Is that so? I'll have to make sure I don't disappoint..."

She swallowed hard as he moved his fingers to the buttons of her blouse and undid them with clever dexterity, his fingers playing over her skin. He groaned softly at the sight of her; glancing down, Hermione felt a thrill sear through her blood as she saw how aroused he was for her. Unable to help herself, she reached out for him and curled her fingers around his length; she could feel it pulsing beneath her touch, even through the material of his shorts.

"God, Hermione," he groaned, throwing his head back in ecstasy, "I need you..."

"Kiss me," she begged, breathlessly, and in a second his lips had claimed hers, and this was pure, animalistic, desperate passion, an aching need, a delicious itch that needed scratching. His fingers were curling into her hips and he was sinfully close to her, grinding his hips against hers, and she couldn't help but writhe against him, feeling the friction of his rock hard length between her legs. His tongue had darted into her mouth to flirt with hers, gently sliding along hers, and she moaned into his mouth at the sensation...this was so much better than her dreams..._please don't let me be dreaming_, she thought desperately.

With a soft growl, he tugged at his shorts, and she felt him spring free against her, rubbing against her thigh. She gasped against his lips as he guided his length between her sticky, slippery folds, feeling the sheer width of him and he wasn't even inside her yet.

"Hermione..." he breathed, and the desperation in his voice made the tiny hairs tingle at the back of her neck. He wanted her, really wanted her, and the realisation made her feel lightheaded, as though she wasn't here...

He plunged into her, and she cried out at the feel of him; she felt him stretching her, pushing deeper, sliding into her with ease, filling her perfectly. He stayed perfectly still for a few seconds, and she looked up at him; his eyelids had fluttered closed and his lower lip was caught between his teeth.

And then he moved, and he felt so good inside her, like balm to a wound, soothing and yet the ache of needing release was intensifying slowly. He was groaning softly, gripping her hips with every thrust into her, and his noises of longing were almost enough to push her over the edge.

"Kinsgley, please..." she breathed, as she encouraged him closer to her, their lips colliding in blissful union, tongues entwining like flame, heat and desperation rising to an unbearable peak. She felt his hand grip her thigh and push it back around her hip, and she cried out as he plunged deeper...that was too good...

"Good?" He withdrew slightly from her, and the smile around his lips told her he was teasing her...

"God, yes..." she gasped, incoherently. "Don't you dare stop..."

"Demanding little witch," he murmured, taking her other leg and hooking it over his shoulder. The different angle made her gasp and she gazed up at Kingsley pleadingly. He bit his lip and groaned as he plunged back into her, and Hermione moaned deeply, a deep, animalistic noise that she never knew she was capable of making...but Kingsley was thrusting into her so deeply, so strongly that it was sweetly unbearable...he was hitting somewhere inside her that was building an aching pressure.

"Let it go," he breathed, in her ear, as his hand caressed her thigh, and she could feel her whole body trembling in response to him, the delicious ache intensifying, and she grasped hold of Kingsley's arms..._please, please don't stop..._

"I won't stop, sweet...I promise..." he groaned, and thrust harder, faster, feverishly, his rhythm building, and the ache was too much...it was consuming her, spreading out like ink on paper...

"Oh, Kingsley..." she cried, biting her lip as his last thrust finally pushed her over the edge, and she had exploded into sweet euphoria, her muscles tightening around him, writhing in ecstasy as the last waves of her climax slowly lapped away. He groaned softly and with another thrust, she felt him pulse and twitch inside her, and felt the warm rush of him flooding her, as he whispered her name into her ear, breathing heavily.

"You've tormented my dreams for weeks," he murmured into her ear, taking advantage of the opportunity and nipping her earlobe with his lips.

"As have you," she whispered, trying to breathe slowly to steady her pounding heartbeat.

He smiled at her, his eyes softening as he looked at her, and softly trailed his fingers down her cheek, his lips brushing hers in a chaste embrace. She sighed softly against his lips and encouraged him back to her, responding deeply. It was less urgent this time, slower, as though tasting a new food for the first time. She could taste herself in his mouth from earlier; the mere recollection of it made her cheeks flush and heat pool between her legs.

"If you keep doing that, we'll never leave this bed," he murmured against her lips.

"Is that a promise?" she responded, playfully; she could feel him hardening against her thigh in response and moaned despite herself.

"You are insatiable," he purred, sliding his fingers between her legs and slowly massaging her swollen bud; she bit her lip and writhed against him helplessly. "I've not explored you fully yet..."

_There's more? Oh, sweet Merlin_...She swallowed hard as he slid a finger easily inside her, his thumb stroking her engorged clitoris, screaming for release at his touch.

"This is what happens, when you tease me with your fit body, day after day," he whispered, beginning to undo the buttons of her top with his free hand. "You make me have wicked fantasies about your naked body beneath me, and I ache...and I need to relieve it..."

She slipped her hand beneath his legs and curled her fingers around him; he was rock hard and sticky from her. She felt another finger slip into her and she groaned deeply, tightening her grip on him. He moaned appreciatively and pushed against her hand. Getting the hint, she moved her hand up and down his considerable length, and he made a small growl of desperation. She stared at it, entranced, as it swelled beneath her fingers, the tip engorged with blood. She wanted him in her mouth, to suck him and lick him until he came undone.

"I want to taste you," she whispered, suddenly. Kingsley moaned softly with longing and gently removed his fingers from her, sitting back against the pillows and pulling her gently into his lap. She gazed at him for a moment, savouring it, before lowering her head to him and kissing the base of his shaft. He groaned; a long, desperate groan of need and aching, writhing beneath her. His skin was smooth; she could feel the pulsing of his blood against her lips. Experimentally, she licked softly from the base to the tip, and he made a soft noise at the back of his throat.

She paused as her lips brushed against the swollen tip, flicking her tongue languidly across the top, savouring his soft noises of pleasure, before taking the tip of him into her mouth and sucking softly.

"Hermione..." he moaned, tangling his fingers into her curls. "Please..."

She moaned as she allowed him deeper into her mouth; he made her jaw ache but this was worth it, to unravel him by the power of her tongue and lips. She slid her tongue around him, licking his smooth skin, tasting him and savouring it, and he grunted softly as she took him so deep that he was at the back of her throat. He tasted so good in her mouth, and it felt as though she was doing something sinful, but it was arousing her to feel him throbbing and swelling in her mouth, and to hear him groaning softly as she inched him closer to ecstasy.

"Mmm...don't stop..." He exhaled deeply, and his grip on her hair tightened. "Harder...please..."

His words made her tremble and her skin prickle; she sucked and licked and kissed until he was moaning helplessly, his thighs shaking beneath her with suppressed pleasure.

"God, Hermione," he groaned, and he was caressing her hair with his other hand, thrusting helplessly into her mouth, making soft moans of desperation. "Don't stop..."

He grunted and she felt him twitch, and felt something warm and thick flood her mouth as he groaned softly, his grip slackening on her hair. She swallowed him, savouring his musky, salty taste and licking her lips as she glanced up at Kingsley. He was gazing at her with his eyes half-closed, smiling.

"You didn't put that down on your CV," he said, teasingly, and laughed as Hermione slapped his arm playfully.

"Did it meet the Minister's standards?" she said, glancing up at him through her eyelashes.

He smiled, his eyes softening as he looked at her, and leaned to kiss her cheek. "And then some. You've got a very talented tongue, Ms. Granger."

"I had..." She glanced down to his lap, trying not to smile, "plenty...to work with..."

"You flatter me." He sat up, stretching his legs. "Ravishing you is hungry work. Would you like something to eat?"

"I thought we'd just had dinner?" questioned Hermione, playfully.

Kingsley placed his hand on her thigh, his fingers caressing her tenderly, and glanced up into her eyes, a wicked smile playing around his lips.

"I told you, that was an amuse bouche," he said, softly. "That was only a starter. We've still got the main and dessert yet."

Hermione felt her insides squirm pleasantly, as Kingsley took hold of her hand and helped her off the bed. He picked up his shirt, discarded onto the floor, and handed it to her with a grin.

"Wouldn't want you getting cold," he said, playfully, as he stepped back into his boxers.

He led her into a long hallway with varnished floorboards, and into a large, spacious kitchen. It wasn't a wizarding kitchen, Hermione mused as she glanced at the clinically clean white walls, the polished black granite worktops and half white, half wooden units. It wouldn't have looked out of place in _Ideal Homes_ magazine, something her mother used to fawn over every week. A large patio door led outside onto a balcony, overlooking a large garden and an expanse of woodland.

"You have a stunning home," she said, as Kingsley crossed to the fridge and opened it, in search of food.

"You'll fit in well." He turned and smiled at her, a gentle smile that betrayed fondness. "Do you like soup?"

Hermione nodded and sat on one of the stools at the breakfast bar.

"Carrot and coriander?" he asked, holding up a container with a thick orange liquid inside.

"Sounds lovely." She crossed her legs, realising that she was naked save Kingsley's shirt, and he caught the blush on her face and grinned.

"I much prefer you with it off, but you do look damned hot in my clothes," he said, wickedly.

Hermione felt her cheeks colouring, wishing she wasn't so transparent, and then a memory darted into her mind from minutes previously.

_Please, please don't stop..._she'd pleaded wordlessly with him. _"I won't stop, sweet...I promise..."_ How had he known? Had she spoken out loud? Was she really that obvious?

Kingsley glanced quizzically at her from stirring the contents of a saucepan. "Are you okay?"

Her gaze traversed his body, and as his hand moved, she caught sight of the pearly white scar on his arm and gasped despite herself. That was it. That explained it.

"Hermione?" he asked, uncertainly.

Hermione got up and moved across to Kingsley, and allowed her thumb to caress the scar on his arm. He shuddered visibly, his eyelids fluttering closed. Experimentally, she rested the palm of her hand against it fully, and her mind was confronted with a barrage of thoughts and images; it was like listening to a badly tuned radio, hearing lots of different things but none distinct, and then she glanced up into Kingsley's eyes, and heard, through the interference, his deep, measured tones.

_I know what this is...we're blood-bound..._

She stared at him, eyes wide...of course it was, and as soon as she touched him there and looked into his eyes, they experienced passive Legilimency. She almost laughed in relief; she thought she'd been going mad.

"This explains so much," she said, softly. "When you broke the Taboo and she cut you, the next attack must have been..."

"You."

"And then Dobby...but Dobby died...and the knife was buried with him..."

"So it's just..."

"Us..."

The revelation stunned Hermione; as the daughter of two logically minded dentists, she had never held much store by the notion of fate and destiny. It had been hard enough to accept that Trelawney had been telling the truth about the prophecy concerning Harry and Voldemort, but she was beginning to acknowledge that magic did strange things to otherwise sensible ideas and occurrences. How strange that she should have ended up working for Kingsley, which had been indirectly because of the curse scars. They were bound together by Bellatrix; the irony was not lost upon Hermione.

He pushed a bowl of soup in front of her. "Hungry?"

"Not for soup." She glanced up at him playfully through her eyelashes.

"Insatiable little witch, aren't you?" he said, tipping her chin up with his finger so their gazes met. "We'll have to see about that..."

Hermione blushed and dropped her gaze to the bowl of soup in front of her; experimentally, she dipped her finger in the contents of the bowl and licked her finger contemplatively. As her gaze flickered upwards, she caught sight of Kingsley staring at her, and he was biting his lip.

"Don't tell me you don't know full well what you're doing." His voice was laced with a husky undertone that betrayed his thoughts.

"I'm not sure I know what you mean, Minister." Hermione glanced at him with what she hoped was an innocent look, widening her eyes as she gazed at him.

"Tease," he growled, and before she could respond, his lips claimed hers hungrily and she barely had time to gasp.


End file.
